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AULD  LIGHT  IDYLLS. 


BETTER  DEAD. 


AN    EDINBURG-H    ELEVEN. 


By  J.  M.  BARRIE, 

Author  of  "J.  Window  in  Thrums"  ''When  a  Man's  Single." 


NEW  YORK: 

A.  L.  BURT,  PUBLISHER. 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2007  with  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/auldlichtidyllsbOObarrrich 


TO 

FREDERICK  GREENWOOD 


AULD  LIGHT  IDYLS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE    SCHOOL-HOUSE. 

Early  this  morning  I  opened  a  window  in  my 
school-house  in  the  glen  of  Quharity,  awakened 
by  the  shivering  of  a  starving  sparrow  against 
the  frosted  glass.  As  the  snowy  sash  creaked  in 
my  hand,  he  made  off  to  the  water-spout  that 
suspends  its  * '  tangles  "  of  ice  over  a  gaping  tank, 
and,  rebounding  from  that,  with  a  quiver  of  his 
little  black  breast,  bobbed  through  the  network 
of  wire  and  joined  a  few  of  his  fellows  in  a  for- 
lorn hop  round  the  hen-house  in  search  of  food. 
Two  days  ago  my  hilarious  bantam-cock,  saucy 
to  the  last,  my  cheeriest  companion,  was  found 
frozen  in  his  own  water-trough,  the  corn-saucer 
in  three  pieces  by  his  side.  Since  then  I  have 
taken  the  hens  into  the  house.  At  meal-times  they 
litter  the  hearth  with  each  other's  feathers ;  but 

7 


WiZ32^3S 


8  A ULD  LIGHT  IDYLS. 

for  the  most  part  they  give  little  trouble,  roosting 
on  the  rafters  of  the  low-roofed  kitchen  among 
staves  and  fishing-rods. 

Another  white  blanket  has  been  spread  upon 
the  glen  since  I  looked  out  last  night ;  for  over 
the  same  wilderness  of  snow  that  has  met  my 
gaze  for  a  week,  I  see  the  steading  of  Waster 
Lunny  sunk  deeper  into  the  waste.  The  school- 
house,  I  suppose,  serves  similarly  as  a  snow-mark 
for  the  people  at  the  farm.  Unless  that  is  Waster 
Lunny's  grieve  foddering  the  cattle  in  the  snow, 
not  a  living  thing  is  visible.  The  ghostlike  hills 
that  pen  in  the  glen  have  ceased  to  echo  to  the 
sharp  crack  of  the  sportsman's  gun  (so  clear  in 
the  frosty  air  as  to  be  a  warning  to  every  rabbit 
and  partridge  in  the  valley) ;  and  only  giant  Cat- 
law  shows  here  and  there  a  black  ridge,  rearing 
his  head  at  the  entrance  to  the  glen  and  struggHng 
ineffectually  to  cast  off  his  shroud.  Most  wintry 
sign  of  all  I  think,  as  I  close  the  window  hastily, 
is  the  open  farm-stile,  its  poles  lying  embedded  in 
the  snow  where  they  were  last  flung  by  Waster 
Lunny's  herd.  Through  the  still  air  comes  from 
a  distance  a  vibration  as  of  a  tuning-fork  :  a 
robin,  perhaps,  alighting  on  the  wire  of  a  broken 
fence. 

In  the  warm  kitchen,  where  I  dawdle  over  my 
breakfast,  the  widowed  bantam-hen  has  perched 
on  the  back  of  my  drowsy  cat.  It  is  needless  to  go 
through  the  form  of  opening  the  school  to-day  ;  for, 


A  ULD  UCHT  ID  YLS.  9 

with  the  exception  of  Waster  Lunny's  girl,  I  have 
had  no  scholars  for  nine  days.  Yesterday  she 
announced  that  there  would  be  no  more  school- 
ing till  it  was  fresh,  **as  she  wasna  comin';" 
and  indeed,  though  the  smoke  from  the  farm 
chimneys  is  a  pretty  prospect  for  a  snowed-up 
school-master,  the  trudge  between  the  two  houses 
must  be  weary  work  for  a  bairn.  As  for  the  other 
children,  who  have  to  come  from  all  parts  of  the 
hills  and  glen,  I  may  not  see  them  for  weeks. 
Last  year  the  school  was  practically  deserted  for 
a  month.  A  pleasant  outlook,  with  the  March 
examinations  staring  me  in  the  face,  and  an  in- 
spector fresh  from  Oxford.  I  wonder  what  he 
would  say  if  he  saw  me  to-day  digging  myself  out 
of  the  school-house  with  the  spade  I  now  keep  for 
the  purpose  in  my  bedroom. 

The  kail  grows  brittle  from  the  snow  in  my 
dank  and  cheerless  garden.  A  crust  of  bread 
gathers  timid  pheasants  round  me.  The  robins, 
I  see,  have  made  the  coal-house  their  home. 
Waster  Lunny's  dog  never  barks  without  rousing 
my  sluggish  cat  to  a  joyful  response.  It  is  Dutch 
courage  with  the  birds  and  beasts  of  the  glen, 
hard  driven  for  food  ;  but  I  look  attentively  for 
them  in  these  long  forenoons,  and  they  have  be- 
gun to  regard  me  as  one  of  themselves.  My 
breath  freezes,  despite  my  pipe,  as  I  peer  from  the 
door ;  and  with  a  fortnight-old  newspaper  I  retire 
to  the  ingle-nook.     The  friendliest  thing  I  have 


lO  A ULD  LICHT  ID  YLS. 

seen  to-day  is  the  well-smoked  ham  suspended 
from  my  kitchen  rafters.  It  was  a  gift  from  the 
farm  of  TuUin,  with  a  load  of  peats,  the  day  be- 
fore the  snow  began  to  fall.  I  doubt  if  I  have 
seen  a  cart  since. 

This  afternoon  I  was  the  not  altogether  passive 
spectator  of  a  curious  scene  in  natural  history. 
My  feet  encased  in  stout  "tackety  "  boots,  I  had 
waded  down  two  of  Waster  Lunny's  fields  to 
the  glen  burn  :  in  summer  the  never-failing  larder 
from  which,  with  wriggling  worm  or  garish  fly,  I 
can  any  morning  whip  a  savory  breakfast ;  in  the 
winter  time  the  only  thing  in  the  valley  that 
defies  the  ice-king's  chloroform.  I  watched  th ; 
water  twisting  black  and  solemn  through  the 
snow,  the  ragged  ice  on  its  edge  proof  of  the 
toughness  of  the  struggle  with  the  frost,  fr^m 
which  it  has,  after  all,  crept  only  half  victorious. 
A  bare  wild  rose-bush  on  the  farther  bank  was 
violently  agitated,  and  then  there  ran  from  its 
root  a  black-headed  rat  with  wings.  Such  was 
the  general  effect.  I  was  not  less  interested  when 
my  startled  eyes  divided  this  phenomenon  into  its 
component  parts,  and  recognized  in  the  disturb- 
ance on  the  opposite  bank  only  another  fierce 
struggle  among  the  hungry  animals  for  existence  : 
they  need  no  professor  to  teach  them  the  doctrine 
of  the  survival  of  the  fittest.  A  weasel  had  gripped 
a  water-hen  (whit-rit  and  beltie  they  are  called 
in  these  parts)  cowering  at  the  root  of  the  rose- 


A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS.  \  \ 

bush,  and  was  being  dragged  down  the  bank  by 
the  terrified  bird,  which  made  for  the  water  as  its 
only  chance  of  escape.  In  less  disadvantageous 
circumstances  the  weasel  would  have  made  short 
work  of  his  victim  ;  but  as  he  only  had  the  bird 
by  the  tail,  the  prospects  of  the  combatants  were 
equalized.  It  was  the  tug-of-war  being  played 
with  a  life  as  the  stakes.  "  If  I  do  not  reach  the 
water,"  was  the  argument  that  went  on  in  the 
heaving  little  breast  of  the  one,  "I  am  a  dead 
bird."  *'  If  this  water-hen,"  reasoned  the  other, 
"  reaches  the  burn,  my  supper  vanishes  with  her." 
Down  the  sloping  bank  the  hen  had  distinctly  the 
best  of  it,  but  after  that  came  a  yard  of  level  snow, 
and  here  she  tugged  and  screamed  in  vain.  I  had 
so  far  been  an  unobserved  spectator;  but  my 
sympathies  were  with  the  beltie,  and,  thinking  it 
high  time  to  interfere,  I  jumped  into  the  water. 
The  water-hen  gave  one  mighty  final  tug  and 
toppled  into  the  burn  ;  while  the  weasel  viciously 
showed  me  his  teeth,  and  then  stole  slowly  up 
the  bank  to  the  rose-bush,  whence,  **girning,"  he 
watched  me  lift  his  exhausted  victim  from  the 
water,  and  set  off  with  her  for  the  school-house. 
Except  for  her  draggled  tail,  she  already  looks 
wonderfully  composed,  and  so  long  as  the  frost 
holds  I  shall  have  little  difficulty  in  keeping  her 
with  me.  On  Sunday  I  found  a  frozen  sparrow, 
whose  heart  had  almost  ceased  to  beat,  in  the 
disused  pigsty,  and  put  him  for  warmth  into  my 


12  AULD  LICHT  IDYLS, 

breast-pocket.  The  ungrateful  little  scrub  bolted 
without  a  word  of  thanks  about  ten  minutes 
afterward,  to  the  alarm  of  my  cat,  which  had  not 
known  his  whereabouts. 

I  am  alone  in  the  school-house.  On  just  such 
an  evening  as  this  last  year,  my  desolation  drove 
me  to  Waster  Lunny,  where  I  was  storm-stayed 
for  the  night.  The  recollection  decides  me  to 
court  my  own  warm  hearth,  to  challenge  my 
right  hand  again  to  a  game  at  the  "dambrod" 
against  my  left.  I  do  not  lock  the  school-house 
door  at  nights  ;  for  even  a  highwayman  (there  is 
no  such  luck)  would  be  received  with  open 
arms,  and  I  doubt  if  there  be  a  barred  door  in  all 
the  glen.  But  it  is  cosier  to  put  on  the  shutters. 
The  road  to  Thrums  has  lost  itself  miles  down 
the  valley.  I  wonder  what  they  are  doing  out 
in  the  world.  Though  I  am  the  Free  Church 
precentor  in  Thrums  (ten  pounds  a  year,  and  the 
little  town  is  five  miles  away),  they  have  not 
seen  me  for  three  weeks.  A  packman  whom  I 
thawed  yesterday  at  my  kitchen  fire  tells  me 
that  last  Sabbath  only  the  Auld  Lichts  held  serv- 
ice. Other  people  realized  that  they  were  snowed 
up.  Far  up  the  glen,  after  it  twists  out  of  view, 
a  manse  and  half  a  dozen  thatched  cottages  that 
are  there  may  still  show  a  candle-light,  and  the 
crumbling  gravestones  keep  cold  vigil  round  the 
gray  old  kirk.     Heavy  shadows  fade  into  the  sky 


A  ULD  LICHT  ID  YLS.  13 

to  the  north.  A  flake  trembles  against  the  win- 
dow ;  but  it  is  too  cold  for  much  snow  to-night. 
The  shutter  bars  the  outer  world  from  the  school- 
house. 


14  A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS, 


CHAPTER  II. 

THRUMS. 

Thrums  is  the  name  I  give  here  to  the  handful 
of  houses  jumbled  together  in  a  cup,  which  is  the 
town  nearest  the  school-house.  Until  twenty 
years  ago  its  every  other  room,  earthen-floored 
and  showing  the  rafters  overhead,  had  a  hand- 
loom,  and  hundreds  of  weavers  Hved  and  died 
Thoreaus  "  ben  the  hoose  "  without  knowing  it. 
In  those  days  the  cup  overflowed  and  left  several 
houses  on  the  top  of  the  hill,  where  their  cold 
skeletons  still  stand.  The  road  that  climbs  from 
the  square,  which  is  Thrums'  heart,  to  the  north 
is  so  steep  and  straight,  that  in  a  sharp  frost  chil- 
dren hunker  at  the  top  and  are  blown  down  with 
a  roar  and  a  rush  on  rails  of  ice.  At  such  times, 
when  viewed  from  the  cemetery,  where  the 
traveller  from  the  school-house  gets  his  first 
glimpse  of  the  little  town,  Thrums  is  but  two 
church-steeples  and  a  dozen  red-stone  patches 
standing  out  of  a  snow-heap.  One  of  the 
steeples  belong  to  the  new  Free  Kirk,  and  the 
other   to   the  parish   church,   both  of  which  the 


A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS.  1 5 

first  Auld  Licht  minister  I  knew  ran  past  when 
he  had  not  time  to  avoid  them  by  taking  a  back 
wynd.  He  was  but  a  pocket  edition  of  a  man, 
who  grew  two  inches  after  he  was  called  ;  but  he 
was  so  full  of  the  cure  of  souls,  that  he  usually 
scudded  to  it  with  his  coat-tails  quarrelling  behind 
him.  His  successor,  whom  I  knew  better,  was  a 
greater  scholar,  and  said  :  '*  Let  us  see  what  this 
is  in  the  original  Greek,"  as  an  ordinary  man 
might  invite  a  friend  to  dinner ;  but  he  never 
wrestled  as  Mr.  Dishart,  his  successor,  did  with 
the  pulpit  cushions,  nor  flung  himself  at  the  pul- 
pit door.  Nor  was  he  so  "hard  on  the  Book,"  as 
Lang  Tammas,  the  precentor,  expressed  it,  mean- 
ing that  he  did  not  bang  the  Bible  with  his  fist  as 
much  as  might  have  been  wished. 

Thrums  had  been  known  to  me  for  years  be- 
fore I  succeeded  the  captious  dominie  at  the 
school-house  in  the  glen.  The  dear  old  soul  who 
originally  induced  me  to  enter  the  Auld  Licht 
kirk  by  lamenting  the  "  want  of  Christ "  in  the 
minister's  discourses,  was  my  first  landlady. 
For  the  last  ten  years  of  her  life  she  was  bedrid- 
den, and  only  her  interest  in  the  kirk  kept  her 
alive.  Her  case  against  the  minister  was  that  he 
did  not  call  to  denounce  her  sufficiently  often  for 
her  sins,  her  pleasure  being  to  hear  him  bewail- 
ing her  on  his  knees,  as  one  who  was  probably 
past  praying  for.  She  was  as  sweet  and  pure  a 
woiftan  as  I  ever  knew,  and  had  her  wishes  been 


1 6  A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  VLS, 

horses,  she  would  have  sold  them  and  kept  (and 
looked  after)  a  minister  herself. 

There  are  few  Auld  Licht  communities  in  Scot- 
land nowadays — perhaps  because  people  are  now 
so  well  off,  for  the  most  devout  Auld  Lichts  were 
always  poor,  and  their  last  years  were  generally 
a  grim  struggle  with  the  work-house.  Many 
a  hdUvy-eyed,  back-bent  weaver  has  won  his 
Waterloo  in  Thrums  fighting  on  his  stumps. 
There  are  a  score  or  two  of  them  left  still,  for, 
though  there  are  now  two  factories  in  the  town, 
the  claiter  of  the  hand-loom  can  yet  be  heard, 
and  they  have  been  starving  themselves  of  late 
until  they  have  saved  up  enough  money  to  get 
another  minister. 

The  square  is  packed  away  in  the  centre  of 
Thrums,  and  irregularly  built  little  houses 
squeeze  close  to  it  like  chickens  clustering  round 
a  hen.  Once  the  Auld  Lichts  held  property  in 
the  square,  but  other  denominations  have  bought 
them  out  of  it,  and  now  few  of  them  are  even  to 
be  found  in  the  main  streets  that  make  for  the 
rim  of  the  cup.  They  live  in  the  kirk  wynd,  or 
in  retiring  little  houses,  the  builder  of  which  does 
not  seem  to  have  remembered  that  it  is  a  good 
plan  to  have  a  road  leading  to  houses  until  after 
they  were  finished.  Narrow  paths,  straggling 
round  gardens,  some  of  them  with  stunted  gates, 
which  it  is  commoner  to  step  over  than  to  open, 
have  been  formed  to  reach  these  dwellings,  but 


A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS.  1 7 

in  winter  they  are  running  streams,  and  then  the 
best  way  to  reach  a  house  such  as  that  of  Tam- 
my Mealmaker,  the  wright,  pronounced  wir-icht, 
is  over  a  broken  dyke  and  a  pig-sty.  Tammy, 
who  died  a  bachelor,  had  been  soured  in  his 
youth  by  a  disappointment  hi  love,  of  which  he 
spoke  but  seldom.  She  lived  far  away  in  a  town 
which  he  had  wandered  in  in  the  days  when  his 
blood  ran  hot,  and  they  became  engaged.  Un- 
fortunately, however.  Tammy  forgot  her  name, 
and  he  never  knew  the  address ;  so  there  the 
affair  ended,  to  his  silent  grief.  He  admitted 
himself,  over  his  snuff-mull  of  an  evening,  that 
he  was  a  very  ordinary  character,  but  a  certain 
halo  of  horror  was  cast  over  the  whole  family  by 
their  connection  with  little  Joey  Sutie,  who  was 
pointed  at  in  Thrums  as  the  laddie  that  whistled 
when  he  went  past  the  minister.  Joey  became 
a  peddler,  and  was  found  dead  one  raw  morning 
dangling  over  a  high  wall  within  a  few  miles  of 
Thrums.  When  climbing  the  dyke  his  pack  had 
slipped  back,  the  strap  round  his  neck,  and 
choked  him. 

You  could  generally  tell  an  Auld  Licht  in 
Thrums  when  you  passed  him,  his  dull,  vacant 
face  wrinkled  over  a  heavy  wob.  He  wore  tags 
of  yarn  round  his  trousers  beneath  the  knee,  that 
looked  like  ostentatious  garters,  and  frequently  his 
jacket  of  corduroy  was  put  on  beneath  his  waist- 
coat. If  he  was  too  old  to  carry  his  load  on  his 


1 8  A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS. 

back,  he  wheeled  it  on  a  creaking  barrow,  and 
when  he  met  a  friend  they  said,  * '  Ay,  Jeames, "  and 
"Ay,  Davit,"  and  then  could  think  of  nothing 
else.  At  long  intervals  they  passed  through  the 
square,  disappearing  or  coming  into  sight  round 
the  townhouse  which  stands  on  the  south  side  of 
it,  and  guards  the  entrance  to  a  steep  brae  that 
leads  down  and  then  twists  up  on  its  lonely  way 
to  the  county  town.  I  like  to  linger  over  the 
square,  for  it  was  from  an  upper  window  in  it 
that  I  got  to  know  Thrums.  On  Saturday  nights, 
when  theAuld  Licht  young  men  came  into  the 
square  dressed  and  washed  to  look  at  the  young 
women  errand-going,  and  to  laugh  some  time 
afterward  to  each  other,  it  presented  a  glare  of 
light ;  and  here  even  came  the  cheap  jacks  and  the 
Fair  Circassian,  and  the  showman,  who,  besides 
playing  *'  The  Mountain  Maid  and  the  Shepherd's 
Bride,''  exhibited  part  of  the  tail  of  Balaam's  ass, 
the  helm  of  Noah's  ark,  and  the  tartan  plaid  in 
which  Flora  McDonald  wrapped  Prince  Charlie. 
More  select  entertainment,  such  as  Shuffle  Kitty's 
wax-work,  whose  motto  was,  *'A  rag  to  pay,  and 
in  you  go,"  were  given  in  a  hall  whose  approach 
was  by  an  outside  stair.  On  the  Muckle  Friday, 
the  fair  for  which  children  storing  their  pocket- 
money  would  accumulate  sevenpence  halfpenny 
in  less  than  six  months,  the  square  was  crammed 
with  gingerbread  stalls,  bag-pipers,  fiddlers,  and 
monstrosities  who  were  gifted  with  second-sight 


A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS.  1 9 

There  was  a  bearded  man,  who  had  neither  legs 
nor  arms,  and  was  drawn  through  the  streets  in 
a  small  cart  by  four  dogs.  By  looking  at  you  he 
could  see  all  the  clock-work  inside,  as  could  a  boy 
who  was  led  about  by  his  mother  at  the  end  of  a 
string.  Every  Friday  there  was  the  market,  when 
a  dozen  ramshackle  carts  containing  vegetables 
and  cheap  crockery  filled  the  centre  of  the  square, 
resting  in  line  on  their  shafts.  A  score  of  farmers' 
wives  or  daughters  in  old-world  garments  squatted 
against  the  town-house  within  walls  of  butter 
on  cabbage-leaves,  eggs  and  chickens.  Toward 
evening  the  voice  of  the  buckie-man  shook  the 
square,  and  rival  fish-cadgers,  terrible  characters 
who  ran  races  on  horseback,  screamed  libels  at 
each  other  over  a  fruiterer's  barrow.  Then  it  was 
time  for  douce  Auld  Lichts  to  go  home,  draw  their 
stools  near  the  fire,  spread  their  red  handkerchiefs 
over  their  legs  to  prevent  their  trousers  getting 
singed,  and  read  their  ''Pilgrim's  Progress.'* 

In  my  school-house,  however,  I  seem  to  see  the 
square  most  readily  in  the  Scotch  mist  which  so 
often  filled  it,  loosening  the  stones  and  choking 
the  drains.  There  was  then  no  rattle  of  rain 
against  my  window-sill,  nor  dancing  of  diamond 
drops  on  the  roofs,  but  blobs  of  water  grew  on 
the  panes  of  glass  to  reel  heavily  down  them. 
Then  the  sodden  square  would  have  shed  abun- 
dant tears  if  you  could  have  taken  it  in  your 
hands  and  wrung  it  like  a   dripping  cloth.     At 


2  o  A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS. 

such  a  time  the  square  would  be  empty  but  for 
one  vegetable-cart  left  in  the  care  of  a  lean  collie, 
which,  tied  to  the  wheel,  whined  and  shivered 
underneath.  Pools  of  water  gather  in  the  coarse 
sacks  that  have  been  spread  over  the  potatoes  and 
bundles  of  greens,  which  turn  to  manure  in  their 
lidless  barrels.  The  eyes  of  the  whimpering  dog 
never  leave  a  black  close  over  which  hangs  the 
sign  of  the  Bull,  probably  the  refuge  of  the  hawker. 
At  long  intervals  a  farmer's  gig  rumbles  over  the 
bumpy,  ill-paved  square,  or  a  native,  with  his 
head  buried  in  his  coat,  peeps  out  of  doors, 
skurries  across  the  way,  and  vanishes.  Most  of 
the  leading  shops  are  here,  and  the  decorous 
draper  ventures  a  few  yards  from  the  pavement 
to  scan  the  sky,  or  note  the  effect  of  his  new  ar- 
rangement in  scarves.  Planted  against  his  door 
is  the  butcher,  Renders  Todd,  white-aproned,  and 
with  a  knife  in  his  hand,  gazing  interestedly  at 
the  draper,  for  a  mere  man  may  look  at  an  elder. 
The  tinsmith  brings  out  his  steps,  and,  mounting 
them,  stealthily  removes  the  saucepans  and 
pepper-pots  that  dangle  on  a  wire  above  his  sign- 
board. Pulling  to  his  door  he  shuts  out  the  foggy 
light  that  showed  in  his  solder-strewn  workshop. 
The  square  is  deserted  again.  A  bundle  of  sloppy 
parsley  slips  from  the  hawker's  cart  and  topples 
over  the  wheel  in  driblets.  The  puddles  in  the 
sacks  overflow  and  run  together.  The  dog  has 
twisted  his  chain  round  a  barrel  and  yelps  sharply. 


A  ULD  LICHT  ID  YLS.  2 1 

As  if  in  response  comes  a  rush  of  other  dogs.  A 
terrified  fox-terrier  tears  across  the  square  with 
half  a  score  of  mongrels,  the  butcher's  mastiff,  and 
some  collies  at  his  heels  ;  he  is  doubtless  a  stranger, 
who  has  insulted  them  by  his  glossy  coat.  For 
two  seconds  the  square  shakes  to  an  invasion  of 
dogs,  and  then  again  there  is  only  one  dog  in 
sight. 

No  one  will  admit  the  Scotch  mist.  It  '*  looks 
saft."  The  tinsmith  "wudna  wonder  but  what 
it  was  makkin' for  rain."  Tammas  Haggart  and 
Pete  Lunan  dander  into  sight  bareheaded,  and 
have  to  stretch  out  their  hands  to  discover  what 
the  weather  is  like.  By  and  by  they  come  to  a 
standstill  to  discuss  the  immortality  of  the  soul, 
and  then  they  are  looking  silently  at  the  Bull. 
Neither  speaks,  but  they  begin  to  move  toward 
the  inn  at  the  same  time,  and  its  door  closes  on 
them  before  they  know  what  they  are  doing.  A 
few  minutes  afterward  Jinny  Dundas,  who  is 
Pete's  wife,  runs  straight  for  the  Bull  in  her  short 
gown,  which  is  tucked  up  very  high,  and  emerges 
with  her  husband  soon  afterward.  Jinny  is  vol- 
uble, but  Pete  says  nothing.  Tammas  follows 
later,  putting  his  head  out  at  the  door  first,  and 
looking  cautiously  about  him  to  see  if  any  one  is 
in  sight  Pete  is  a  U.  P.,  and  may  be  left  to  his 
fate,  but  the  Auld  Licht  minister  thinks  that, 
though  it  be  hard  work,  Tammas  is  worth  saving. 

To  the  Auld  Licht  of  the  past  there  were  three 


2  2  A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS. 

degrees  of  damnation — auld  kirk,  play-acting, 
chapel.  Chapel  was  the  name  always  given  to 
the  English  Church,  of  which  I  am  too  much  an 
Auld  Licht  myself  to  care  to  write  even  now.  To 
belong  to  the  chapel  was,  in  Thrums,  to  be  a 
Roman  Catholic,  and  the  boy  who  flung  a  clod  of 
earth  at  the  English  minister — who  called  the 
Sabbath  Sunday — or  dropped  a  *^  divet  "  down  his 
chimney  was  held  to  be  in  the  right  way.  The 
only  pleasant  story  Thrums  could  tell  of  the 
chapel  was  that  its  steeple  once  fell.  It  is  sur- 
prising that  an  English  church  was  ever  suffered 
to  be  built  in  such  a  place  ;  though  probably 
the  county  gentry  had  something  to  do  with  it. 
They  travelled  about  too  much  to  be  good  men. 
Small  though  Thrums  used  to  be,  it  had  four 
kirks  in  all  before  the  disruption,  and  then  an- 
other, which  split  into  two  immediately  after- 
ward. The  spire  of  the  parish  church,  known  as 
the  auld  kirk,  commands  a  view  of  the  square, 
from  which  the  entrance  to  the  kirk-yard  would  be 
visible,  if  it  were  not  hidden  by  the  town-house. 
The  kirk-yard  has  long  been  crammed,  and  is 
not  now  in  use,  but  the  church  is  sufficiently 
large  to  hold  nearly  all  the  congregations  in 
Thrums.  Just  at  the  gate  lived  Pete  Todd,  the 
father  of  Sam'l,  a  man  of  whom  the  Auld  Lichts 
had  reason  to  be  proud.  Pete  was  an  every-day 
man  at  ordinary  times,  and  was  even  said,  when 
his  wife^  who  had  been  long  ill,  died,  to  have 


A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS.  2$ 

clasped  his  hands  and  exclaimed,  "  Hip,  hip, 
hurrah  !  "  adding  only  as  an  afterthought,  **  The 
Lord's  will  be  done."  But  midsummer  was  his 
great  opportunity.  Then  took  place  the  rouping 
of  the  seats  in  the  parish  church.  The  scene  was 
the  kirk  itself,  and  the  seats  being  put  up  to  auc- 
tion were  knocked  down  to  the  highest  bidder. 
This  sometimes  led  to  the  breaking  of  the  peace. 
Every  person  was  present  who  was  at  all  partic- 
ular as  to  where  he  sat,  and  an  auctioneer  was 
engaged  for  the  day.  He  rouped  the  kirk-seats 
like  potato-drills,  beginning  by  asking  for  a  bid. 
Every  seat  was  put  up  to  auction  separately ;  for 
some  were  much  more  run  after  than  others,  and 
the  men  were  instructed  by  their  wives  what  to 
bid  for.  Often  the  women  joined  in,  and  as  they 
bid  excitedly  against  each  other  the  church  rang 
with  opprobrious  epithets.  A  man  would  come 
to  the  roup  late,  and  learn  that  the  seat  he  wanted 
had  been  knocked  down.  He  maintained  that  he 
had  been  unfairly  treated,  or  denounced  the  local 
laird  to  whom  the  seat-rents  went.  If  he  did  not 
get  the  seat  he  would  leave  the  kirk.  Then  the 
woman  who  had  forestalled  him  wanted  to  know 
what  he  meant  by  glaring  at  her  so,  and  the  auc- 
tion was  interrupted.  Another  member  would 
"trip  down  the  throat"  of  the  autioneer  that  he 
had  a  right  to  his  former  seat  if  he  continued  to 
pay  the  same  price  for  it.  The  auctioneer  was 
screamed  at  for  favoring  his  friends,  and  at  times 


24  A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS. 

the  roup  became  so  noisy  that  men  and  women 
had  to  be  forcibly  ejected.  Then  was  Pete's 
chance.  Hovering  at  the  gate,  he  caught  the 
angry  people  on  their  way  home  and  took  them 
into  his  workshop  by  an  outside  stair.  There  he 
assisted  them  in  denouncing  the  parish  kirk,  with 
the  view  of  getting  them  to  forswear  it.  Pete 
made  a  good  many  Auld  Lichts  in  his  time  out 
of  unpromising  material. 

Sights  were  to  be  witnessed  in  the  parish  church 
at  times  that  could  not  have  been  made  more 
impressive  by  the  Auld  Lichts  themselves.  Here 
sinful  women  were  grimly  taken  to  task  by  the 
minister,  who,  having  thundered  for  a  time 
against  adultery  in  general,  called  upon  one 
sinner  in  particular  to  stand  forth.  She  had  to 
step  forward  into  a  pew  near  the  pulpit,  where, 
alone  and  friendless,  and  stared  at  by  the  congre- 
gation, she  cowered  in  tears  beneath  his  denun- 
ciations. In  that  seat  she  had  to  remain  during 
the  forenoon  service.  She  returned  home  alone, 
and  had  to  come  back  alone  to  her  solitary  seat 
in  the  afternoon.  All  day  no  one  dared  speak  to 
her.  She  was  as  much  an  object  of  contumely  as 
the  thieves  and  smugglers  who,  in  the  end  of  last 
century,  it  was  the  privilege  of  Feudal  Bailie 
Wood  (as  he  was  called)  to  whip  round  the 
square. 

It  is  nearly  twenty  years  since  the  gardeners 
had  their    last    "walk"   in  Thrums,    and   they 


A  ULD  LICHT  ID  YLS.  25 

survived  all  the  other  benefit  societies  that  walked 
once  every  summer.  There  was  a  "weavers' 
walk"  and  five  or  six  others,  the  *' women's 
walk  "  being  the  most  picturesque.  These  were 
processions  of  the  members  of  benefit  societies 
through  the  square  and  wynds,  and  all  the  women 
walked  in  white,  to  the  number  of  a  hundred  or 
more,  behind  the  Tilliedrum  band.  Thrums  having 
in  those  days  no  band  of  its  own. 

From  the  northwest  corner  of  the  square  a  nar- 
row street  sets  off,  jerking  this  way  and  that,  as  if 
uncertain  what  point  to  make  for.  Here  lurks  the 
post-office,  which  had  once  the  reputation  of  being 
as  crooked  in  its  ways  as  the  street  itself 

A  railway  line  runs  into  Thrums  now.  The 
sensational  days  of  the  post-ofhce  were  when  the 
letters  were  conveyed  officially  in  a  creaking  old 
cart  from  Tilliedrum.  The  **pony"  had  seen 
better  days  than  the  cart,  and  always  looked  as  if 
he  were  just  on  the  point  of  succeeding  in  run- 
ning away  from  it.  Hooky  Crewe  was  driver — so 
called  because  an  iron  hook  was  his  substitute 
for  a  right  arm.  Robbie  Proctor,  the  blacksmith, 
made  the  hook  and  fixed  it  in.  Crewe  suffered 
from  rheumatism,  and  when  he  felt  it  coming  on 
he  stayed  at  home.  Sometimes  his  cart  came 
undone  in  a  snow-drift  ;  when  Hooky,  extricated 
from  the  fragments  by  some  chance  wayfarer, 
was  deposited  with  his  mail-bag  (of  which  he  al- 
ways kept  a  grip  by  the  hook)  in  a  farmhouse. 


26  A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS. 

It  was  his  boast  that  his  letters  always  reached 
their  destination  eventually.  They  might  be  a 
long  time  about  it,  but  **slow  and  sure"  was  his 
motto.  Hooky  emphasized  his  **  slow  and  sure" 
by  taking  a  snuff.  He  was  a  godsend  to  the  post- 
mistress, for  to  his  failings  or  the  infirmities  of 
his  gig  were  charged  all  delays. 

At  the  time  I  write  of,  the  posting  of  the  letter 
took  as  long  and  was  as  serious  an  undertaking 
as  the  writing.  That  means  a  good  deal,  for 
many  of  the  letters  were  written  to  dictation  by 
the  Thrums  schoolmaster,  Mr.  Fleemister,  who 
belonged  to  the  Auld  Kirk.  He  was  one  of  the 
few  persons  in  the  community  who  looked  upon 
the  despatch  of  his  letters  by  the  postmistress  as 
his  right,  and  not  a  favor  on  her  part ;  there  Vv^as 
a  long-standing  feud  between  them  accordingly. 
After  a  few  tumblers  of  Widow  Stables'  treacle- 
beer — in  the  concoction  of  which  she  was  the 
acknowledged  mistress  for  miles  around — the 
schoolmaster  would  sometimes  go  the  length 
of  hinting  that  he  could  get  the  postmistress  dis- 
missed any  day.  This  mighty  power  seemed  to 
rest  on  a  knowledge  of  "steamed"  letters. 
Thrums  had  a  high  respect  for  the  schoolmaster ; 
but  among  themselves  the  weavers  agreed  that, 
even  if  he  did  write  to  the  Government,  Lizzie 
Harrison,  the  postmistress,  would  refuse  to  trans- 
mit the  letter.  The  more  shrewd  ones  among  us 
kept  friends  with  both  parties ;   for,   unless  you 


A  ULD  LICHT  ID  YLS,  27 

could  write  "writ-hand,"  you  could  not  compose 
a  letter  without  the  schoolmaster's  assistance  ; 
and,  unless  Lizzie  was  so  courteous  as  to  send 
it  to  its  destination,  it  might  lie — or  so  it  was 
thought — much  too  long  in  the  box.  A  letter 
addressed  by  the  schoolmaster  found  great  dis- 
favor in  Lizzie's  eyes.  You  might  explain  to  her 
that  you  had  merely  called  in  his  assistance  be- 
cause you  were  a  poor  hand  at  writing  yourself, 
but  that  was  held  no  excuse.  Some  addressed 
their  own  envelopes  with  much  labor,  and  sought 
to  palm  off  the  whole  as  their  handiwork.  It 
reflects  on  the  postmistress  somewhat  that  she 
had  generally  found  them  out  by  next  day,  when, 
if  in  a  specially  vixenish  mood,  she  did  not  hesi- 
tate to  upbraid  them  for  their  perfidy. 

To  post  a  letter  you  did  not  merely  saunter  to 
the  post-office  and  drop  it  into  the  box.  The  cau- 
tious correspondent  first  went  into  the  shop  and 
explained  to  Lizzie  how  matters  stood.  She  kept 
what  she  called  a  bookseller's  shop  as  well  as  the 
post-office  ;  but  the  supply  of  books  corresponded 
exactly  to  tlie  lack  of  demand  for  them,  and  her 
chief  trade  was  in  nick-nacks,  from  marbles  and 
money-boxes,  up  to  concertinas.  If  he  found  the 
postmistress  in  an  amiable  mood,  which  was 
only  now  and  then,  the  caller  led  up  craftily  to 
the  object  of  his  visit.  Having  discussed  the 
weather  and  the  potato-disease,  he  explained  that 
his  sister  Mary,  whom  Lizzie  would  remember, 


28  A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS. 

had  married  a  fishmonger  in  Dundee,  The  fish- 
monger had  lately  started  on  himself  and  was 
doing  well.  They  had  four  children.  The  young- 
est had  had  a  severe  attack  of  measles.  No  news 
had  been  got  of  Mary  for  twelve  months ;  and 
Annie,  his  other  sister,  who  lived  in  Thrums,  had 
been  at  him  of  late  for  not  writing.  So  he  had 
written  a  few  lines  ;  and,  in  fact,  he  had  the  letter 
with  him.  The  letter  was  then  produced,  and 
examined  by  the  postmistress.  If  the  address  was 
in  the  schoolmaster's  handwriting,  she  professed 
her  inability  to  read  it.  Was  this  a  /  or  an  /  or  an 
i  ?  was  that  a  6  or  a  c?  /^  This  was  a  cruel  revenge  on 
Lizzie's  part ;  for  the  sender  of  the  letter  was  com- 
pletely at  her  mercy.  The  schoolmaster's  name 
being  tabooed  in  her  presence,  he  was  unable  to 
explain  that  the  writing  was  not  his  own  ;  and  as 
for  deciding  between  the  /'s  and  /'s,  he  could  not 
do  it.  Eventually  he  would  be  directed  to  put 
the  letter  into  the  box.  They  would  do  their  best 
with  it,  Lizzie  said,  but  in  a  voice  that  suggested 
how  little  hope  she  had  of  her  efforts  to  decipher 
it  proving  successful. 

There  was  an  opinion  among  some  of  the  peo- 
ple that  the  letter  should  not  be  stamped  by  the 
sender.  The  proper  thing  to  do  was  to  drop  a 
penny  for  the  stamp  into  the  box  along  with  the 
letter,  and  then  Lizzie  would  see  that  it  was  all 
right.  Lizzie's  acquaintance  with  the  handwriting 
of  every  person  in  the  place  who  could  write  gave 


A  ULD  LICHT  ID  YLS.  29 

her  a  great  advantage.  You  would  perhaps  drop 
into  her  shop  some  day  to  make  a  purchase,  when 
she  would  calmly  produce  a  letter  you  had  posted 
several  days  before.  In  explanation  she  would 
tell  you  that  you  had  not  put  a  stamp  on  it,  or 
that  she  suspected  there  was  money  in  it,  or  that 
you  had  addressed  it  to  the  wrong  place.  I  re- 
member an  old  man,  a  relative  of  my  own,  who 
happened  for  once  in  his  life  to  have  several  let- 
ters to  post  at  one  time.  The  circumstance  was 
so  out  of  the  common  that  he  considered  it  only 
reasonable  to  make  Lizzie  a  small  present. 

Perhaps  the  postmistress  was  belied ;  but  if  she 
did  not  "steam"  the  letters  and  confide  their  tid- 
bits to  favored  friends  of  her  own  sex,  it  is  diffi- 
cult to  see  how  all  the  gossip  got  out.  The 
school-master  once  played  an  unmanly  trick  on 
her,  with  the  view  of  catching  her  in  the  act.  He 
was  a  bachelor  who  had  long  been  given  up  by 
all  the  maids  in  the  town.  One  day,  however, 
he  wrote  a  letter  to  an  imaginary  lady  in  the 
county-town,  asking  her  to  be  his,  and  going  into 
full  particulars  about  his  income,  his  age,  and  his 
prospects.  A  male  friend  in  the  secret,  at  the 
other  end,  was  to  reply,  in  a  lady's  handwriting, 
accepting  him,  and  also  giving  personal  particu- 
lars. The  first  letter  was  written  ;  and  an  an. 
swer  arrived  in  due  course — two  days,  the  school- 
master said,  after  date.  No  other  person  knew 
of   this    scheme  for  the  undoing    of   the    post- 


30  A  t/LD  LIGHT  ID  YLS. 

mistress,  yet  in  a  very  short  time  the  school- 
master's coming  marriage  was  the  talk  of 
Thrums.  Everybody  became  suddenly  aware  of 
the  lady's  name,  of  her  abode,  and  of  the  sum  of 
money  she  was  to  bring  her  husband.  It  was 
even  noised  abroad  that  the  schoolmaster  had 
represented  his  age  as  a  good  ten  years  less  than 
it  was.  Then  the  schoolmaster  divulged  every- 
thing. To  his  mortification,  he  was  not  quite  be- 
lieved. All  the  proof  he  could  bring  forward  to 
support  his  story  was  this  :  that  time  would  show 
whether  he  got  married  or  not.  Foolish  man  ! 
this  argument  was  met  by  another,  which  was 
accepted  at  once.  The  lady  had  jilted  the  school- 
master. Whether  this  explanation  came  from  the 
post-office,  who  shall  say?  But  so  long  as  he 
lived  the  schoolmaster  was  twitted  about  the 
lady  who  threw  him  over.  He  took  his  revenge 
in  two  ways.  He  wrote  and  posted  letters  ex- 
ceedingly abusive  of  the  postmistress.  The 
matter  might  be  libellous  ;  but  then,  as  he  pointed 
out,  she  would  incriminate  herself  if  she  "brought 
him  up  "  about  it.  Probably  Lizzie  felt  his  other 
insult  more.  By  publishing  his  suspicions  of  her 
on  every  possible  occasion  he  got  a  few  people 
to  seal  their  letters.  So  bitter  was  his  feeling 
against  her  that  he  was  even  willing  to  supply 
the  wax. 

They  know  all   about  post-offices  in  Thrums 
now,   and  even  jeer  at  the  telegraph-boy's   uni- 


A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  VIS.  3 1 

form.  In  the  old  days  they  gathered  round  him 
when  he  was  seen  in  the  street,  and  escorted  him 
to  his  destination  in  triumph.  That,  too,  was  after 
Lizzie  had  gone  the  way  of  all  the  earth.  But 
perhaps  they  are  not  even  yet  as  knowing  as  they 
think  themselves.  I  was  told  the  other  day  that 
one  of  them  took  out  a  postal-order,  meaning  to 
send  the  money  to  a  relative,  and  kept  the  order 
as  a  receipt. 

I  have  said  that  the  town  is  sometimes  full  of 
snow.  One  frosty  Saturday,  seven  years  ago,  I 
trudged  into  it  from  the  school-house,  and  on  the 
Monday  morning  we  could  not  see  Thrums  any- 
where. 

I  was  in  one  of  the  proud  two-storied  houses 
in  the  place,  and  could  have  shaken  hands  with 
my  friends  without  from  the  upper  windows.  To 
get  out  of  doors  you  had  to  walk  upstairs.  The 
outlook  was  a  sea  of  snow  fading  into  white  hills 
and  sky,  with  the  quarry  standing  out  red  and 
ragged  to  the  right  like  a  rock  in  the  ocean.  The 
Auld  Licht  manse  was  gone,  but  had  left  its 
garden-trees  behind,  their  lean  branches  soft  with 
snow.  Roofs  were  humps  in  the  white  blanket. 
The  spire  of  the  Established  Kirk  stood  up  cold 
and  stiff,  like  a  monument  to  the  buried  inhab- 
itants. 

Those  of  the  natives  who  had  taken  the  pre- 
caution of  conveying  spades  into  their  houses  the 
night  before,   which  is  my  plan  at  the  school- 


32  AULD  LICBT  IDVLS. 

house,  dug  themselves  out.  They  hobbled  cau- 
tiously over  the  snow,  sometimes  sinking  into  it 
to  their  knees,  when  they  stood  still  and  slowly 
took  in  the  situation.  It  had  been  snowing  more 
or  less  for  a  week,  but  in  a  commonplace  kind  of 
way,  and  they  had  gone  to  bed  thinking  all  was 
well.  This  night  the  snow  must  have  fallen  as  if 
the  heavens  had  opened  up,  determined  to  shake 
themselves  free  of  it  forever. 

The  man  who  first  came  to  himself  and  saw 
what  was  to  be  done  was  young  Renders  Ram- 
say. Renders  had  no  fixed  occupation,  being 
but  an  *'orra  man  "  about  the  place,  and  the  best 
thing  known  of  him  is  that  his  mother's  sister  was 
a  Baptist.  He  feared  God,  man,  nor  the  minister ; 
and  all  the  learning  he  had  was  obtained  from  as- 
siduous study  of  a  grocer's  window.  But  for  one 
brief  day  he  had  things  his  own  way  in  the  town, 
or,  speaking  strictly,  on  the  top  of  it.  With  a  spade, 
a  broom,  and  a  pickaxe,  which  sat  lightly  on  his 
broad  shoulders  (he  was  not  even  back-bent,  and 
that  showed  him  no  respectable  weaver),  Renders 
delved  his  way  to  the  nearest  house,  which  formed 
one  of  a  row,  and  addressed  the  inmates  down 
the  chimney.  They  had  already  been  clearing  it 
at  the  other  end,  or  his  words  would  have  been 
choked.  "  You're  snawed  up.  Davit,"  cried 
Renders,  in  a  voice  that  was  entirely  business- 
like ;  "hae  ye  a  spade  ?  "  A  conversation  ensued 
up   and  down  this  unusual  channel    of  comma- 


A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS. 


IZ 


nication.  The  unlucky  householder,  taking  no 
thought  of  the  morrow,  was  without  a  spade. 
But  if  Renders  would  clear  away  the  snow  from 
his  door  he  would  be  "varra  obleeged."  Ren- 
ders, however,  had  to  come  to  terms  first.  ''The 
chairge  is  saxpence.  Davit,"  he  shouted.  Then  a 
haggling  ensued.  Renders  must  be  neighborly. 
A  plate  of  broth,  now — or,  say,  twopence.  But 
Renders  was  obdurate.  "Fse  nae  time  to  argy- 
bargy  wi'  ye.  Davit.  Gin  ye're  no  willin'  to  say 
saxpence,  I'm  aff  to  Will'um  Pyatt's.  Re's  buried 
too."  So  the  victim  had  to  make  up  his  mind  to 
one  of  two  things  :  he  must  either  say  saxpence 
or  remain  where  he  was. 

If  Renders  was  ''promised"  he  took  good  care 
that  no  sno wed-up  inhabitant  should  perjure  him- 
self. Re  made  his  way  to  a  window  first,  and, 
clearing  the  snow  from  the  top  of  it,  pointed  out 
that  he  could  not  conscientiously  proceed  further 
until  the  debt  had  been  paid.  "  Money  doon," 
he  cried,  as  soon  as  he  reached  a  pane  of  glass; 
or,  "Come  awa  wi*  my  saxpence  noo." 

The  belief  that  this  day  had  not  come  to  Ren- 
ders unexpectedly  was  borne  out  by  the  method 
ot  the  crafty  callant.  Ris  charges  varied  from 
sixpence  to  half-a-crown,  according  to  the  wealth 
and  status  of  his  victims  ;  and  when,  later  on, 
there  were  rivals  in  the  snow,  he  had  the  discrim- 
ination to  reduce  his  minimum  fee  to  threepence. 
He  had  the  honor  of  digging  out  three  ministers 
3 


34  ^  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS. 

at  one  shilling,  one  and  threepence,  and  two 
shillings  respectively. 

Half  a  dozen  times  within  the  next  fortnight  the 
town  was  re-buried  in  snow.  This  generally- 
happened  in  the  night-time ;  but  the  inhabitants 
were  not  to  be  caught  unprepared  again.  Spades 
stood  ready  to  their  hands  in  the  morning,  and 
they  fought  their  way  above  ground  without 
Renders  Ramsay's  assistance.  To  clear  the  snow 
from  the  narrow  wynds  and  pends,  however, 
was  a  task  not  to  be  attempted ;  and  the  Auld 
Lichts,  at  least,  rested  content  when  enough  light 
got  into  their  workshops  to  let  them  see  where 
their  looms  stood.  Wading  through  beds  of  snow 
they  did  not  much  mind ;  but  they  wondered 
what  would  happen  to  their  houses  when  the  thaw 
came. 

The  thaw  was  slow  in  coming.  Snow  during 
the  night  and  several  degrees  of  frost  by  day  were 
what  Thrums  began  to  accept  as  a  revised  order 
of  nature.  Vainly  the  Thrums  doctor,  whose 
practice  extends  into  the  glens,  made  repeated 
attempts  to  reach  his  distant  patients,  twice 
driving  so  far  into  the  dreary  waste  that  he  could 
neither  go  on  nor  turn  back.  A  ploughman  who 
contrived  to  gallop  ten  miles  for  him  did  not  get 
home  for  a  week.  Between  the  town,  which  is 
nowadays  an  agricultural  centre  of  some  impor- 
tance and  the  outlying  farms,  communication  was 
cut  off  for  a  month ;  and  I  heard  subsequently  of 


A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS.  35 

one  farmer  who  did  not  see  a  human  being,  uncon- 
nected with  his  own  farm,  for  seven  weeks.  The 
school-house,  which  I  managed  to  reach  only  two 
days  behind  time,  was  closed  for  a  fortnight,  and 
even  in  Thrums  there  was  only  a  sprinkling  of 
scholars. 

On  Sundays  the  feeling  between  the  different 
denominations  ran  high,  and  the  middling  good 
folk  who  did  not  go  to  church  counted  those  who 
did.  In  the  Established  Church  there  was  a  sparse 
gathering,  who  waited  in  vain  for  the  minister. 
After  a  time  it  got  abroad  that  a  flag  of  distress 
was  flying  from  the  manse,  and  then  they  saw 
that  the  minister  was  storm-stayed.  An  office- 
bearer offered  to  conduct  service  ;  but  the  others 
present  thought  they  had  done  their  duty  and 
went  home.  The  U.  P.  bell  did  not  ring  at  all, 
and  the  kirk-gates  were  not  opened.  The  Free 
Kirk  did  bravely,  however.  The  attendance  in 
the  forenoon  amounted  to  seven,  including  the 
minister ;  but  in  the  afternoon  there  was  a  turn- 
out of  upward  of  fifty.  How  much  denomina- 
tional competition  had  to  do  with  this,  none  can 
say  ;  but  the  general  opinion  was  that  this  muster 
to  afternoon  service  was  a  piece  of  vainglory. 
Next  Sunday  all  the  kirks  were  on  their  mettle, 
and,  though  the  snow  was  drifting  the  whole  day, 
services  were  general.  It  was  felt  that  after  the 
action  of  the  Free  Kirk  the  Established  and  the  U. 
P/s  mugt  show  what  they  too  were  capable  of, 


36  A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS. 

So,  when  the  bells  rang  at  eleven  o'clock  and  two, 
church-goers  began  to  pour  out  of  every  close. 
If  I  remember  aright,  the  victory  lay  with  the  U. 
P.'s  by  two  women  and  a  boy.  Of  course  the 
Auld  Lichts  mustered  in  as  great  force  as  ever. 
The  other  Kirks  never  dreamed  of  competing  with 
them.  What  was  regarded  as  a  judgment  on  the 
Free  Kirk  for  its  boastfulness  of  spirit  on  the  pre- 
ceding Sunday  happened  during  the  forenoon. 
While  the  service  was  taking  place  a  huge  clod  of 
snow  slipped  from  the  roof  and  fell  right  against 
the  church  door.  It  w^as  some  time  before  the 
prisoners  could  make  up  their  minds  to  leave  by 
the  windows.  What  the  Auld  Lichts  would  have 
done  in  a  similar  predicament  I  cannot  even  con- 
jecture. 

That  was  the  first  warning  of  the  thaw.  It 
froze  again  ;  there  was  more  snow  ;  the  thaw  be- 
gan in  earnest ;  and  then  the  streets  were  a  sight 
to  see.  There  was  no  traffic  to  turn  the  snow  to 
slush,  and,  where  it  had  not  been  piled  up  in 
walls  a  few  feet  from  the  houses,  it  remained  in 
the  narrow  ways  till  it  became  a  lake.  It  tried 
to  escape  through  doorways,  when  it  sank  slowly 
into  the  floors.  Gentle  breezes  created  a  ripple 
on  its  surface,  and  strong  winds  lifted  it  into  the 
air  and  flung  it  against  the  houses.  It  undermined 
the  heaps  of  clotted  snow  till  they  tottered  like 
icebergs  and  fell  to  pieces.  Men  made  their  way 
through  it  on  stilts.     Had  a  frost  followed,  the 


A  VLD  LICHT  ID  YLS.  37 

result  would  have  been  appalling  ;  but  there  was 
no  more  frost  that  winter.  A  fortnight  passed 
before  the  place  looked  itself  again,  and  even  then 
congealed  snow  stood  doggedly  in  the  streets, 
while  the  country  roads  were  like  newly-ploughed 
fields  after  rain.  The  heat  from  large  fires  soon 
penetrated  through  roofs  of  slate  and  thatch  ;  and 
it  was  quite  a  common  thing  for  a  man  to  be 
flattened  to  the  ground  by  a  slithering  of  snow 
from  above  just  as  he  opened  his  door.  But  it 
had  seldom  more  than  ten  feet  to  fall.  Most 
interesting  of  all  was  the  novel  sensation  experi- 
enced as  Thrums  began  to  assume  its  familiar 
aspect,  and  objects,  so  long  buried  that  they  had 
been  half  forgotten,  came  back  to  view  and  use. 
Storm-stead  shows  used  to  emphasize  the  sever- 
ity of  a  Thrums  winter.  As  the  name  indicates, 
these  were  gatherings  of  travelling  booths  in  the 
winter-time.  Half  a  century  ago  the  country 
was  overrun  by  itinerant  showmen,  who  went 
their  different  ways  in  summer,  but  formed  little 
colonies  in  the  cold  weather,  when  they  pitched 
their  tents  in  any  empty  field  or  disused  quarry, 
and  huddled  together  for  the  sake  of  warmth,  not 
that  they  got  much  of  it.  Not  more  than  five 
winters  ago  we  had  a  storm-stead  show  on  a 
small  scale  ;  but  nowadays  the  farmers  are  less 
willing  to  give  these  wanderers  a  camping-place, 
and  the  people  are  less  easily  drawn  to  the  enter- 
tainments provided,  by  fife  and  drum.     The  col- 


38  A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS. 

ony  hung  together  until  it  was  starved  out,  when 
it  trailed  itself  elsewhere.  I  have  often  seen  it 
forming.  The  first  arrival  would  be  what  was 
popularly  known  as  "  Saml  Mann's  Tumbling- 
Booth,"  with  its  tumblers,  jugglers,  sword-swal- 
lowers,  and  balancers.  This  travelling  show 
visited  us  regularly  twice  a  year  :  once  in  sum- 
mer for  the  Muckle  Friday,  when  the  performers 
were  gay  and  stout,  and  even  the  horses  had 
flesh  on  their  bones  ;  and  again  in  the  ''back- 
end  "  of  the  year,  when  cold  and  hunger  had 
taken  the  blood  from  their  faces,  and  the  scraggy 
dogs  that  whined  at  their  side  were  lashed  for 
licking  the  paint  off  the  caravans.  While  the 
storm-stead  show  was  in  the  vicinity  the  villages 
suffered  from  an  invasion  of  these  dogs.  Noth- 
ing told  more  truly  the  dreadful  tale  of  the  show- 
man's life  in  winter.  Sam'l  Mann's  was  a  big 
show,  and  half  a  dozen  smaller  ones,  most  of 
which  were  familiar  to  us,  crawled  in  its  wake. 
Others  heard  of  its  whereabouts  and  came  in  from 
distant  parts.  There  was  the  well-known  Gub- 
bins  with  his  "A'  the  World  in  a  Box,"  a  half- 
penny peep-show,  in  which  all  the  world  was 
represented  by  Joseph  and  his  Brethren  (with  pit 
and  coat),  the  bombardment  of  Copenhagen,  the 
Battle  of  the  Nile,  Daniel  in  the  Den  of  Lions,  and 
Mount  Etna  in  eruption.  "Aunt  Maggy's  Whirli- 
gig" could  be  enjoyed  on  payment  of  an  old 
pair  of  boots,   a  collection  of  rags,  or   the   like. 


AtTLD  Lie HT  IDYLS.  39 

Besides  these  and  other  shows,  there  were  the 
wandering  minstrels,  most  of  whom  were  "Water- 
loo veterans  "  wanting  arms  or  a  leg.  I  remem- 
ber one  whose  arms  had  been  "smashed  by  a 
thunderbolt  at  Jamaica."  Queer,  bent  old  dames, 
who  superintended  "lucky  bags"  or  told  fort- 
unes, supplied  the  uncanny  element,  but  hesi- 
tated to  call  themselves  witches,  for  there  can 
still  be  seen  near  Thrums  the  pool  where  these 
unfortunates  used  to  be  drowned,  and  in  the 
session  book  of  the  Glen  Quharity  kirk  can  be 
read  an  old  minute  announcing  that  on  a  certain 
Sabbath  there  was  no  preaching  because  "the 
minister  was  away  at  the  burning  of  a  witch." 
To  the  storm-stead  shows  came  the  gypsies  in 
great  numbers.  Claypots  (which  is  a  corruption 
of  Claypits)  was  their  headquarters  near  Thrums, 
and  it  is  still  sacred  to  their  memory.  It  was  a 
clachan  of  miserable  little  huts  built  entirely  of 
clay  from  the  dreary  and  sticky  pit  in  which  they 
had  been  flung  together.  A  shapeless  hole  on 
one  side  was  the  doorway,  and  a  little  hole 
stuffed  with  straw  in  winter,  the  window.  Some 
of  the  remnants  of  these  hovels  still  stand.  Their 
occupants,  though  they  went  by  the  name  of 
gypsies  among  themselves,  were  known  to  the 
weavers  as  the  Claypots  beggars  ;  and  their  king 
was  Jimmy  Pawse.  His  regal  dignity  gave 
Jimmy  the  right  to  seek  alms  first  when  he  chose 
to  do  so  ;  thus  he  got  the  cream  of  a  place  before 


40  A  ULD  LICHT  ID  YLS. 

his  subjects  set  to  work.  He  was  rather  foppish 
in  his  dress  ;  generally  affecting  a  suit  of  gray 
cloth  with  showy  metal  buttons  on  it,  and  a 
broad  blue  bonnet.  His  wife  was  a  little  body 
like  himself;  and  when  they  went  a-begging, 
Jimmy  with  a  meal-bag  for  alms  on  his  back,  she 
always  took  her  husband's  arm.  Jimmy  was  the 
legal  adviser  of  his  subjects ;  his  decision  was 
considered  final  on  all  questions,  and  he  guided 
them  in  their  courtships  as  well  as  on  their  death- 
beds. He  christened  their  children  and  officiated 
at  their  weddings,  marrying  them  over  the  tongs. 
The  storm-stead  show  attracted  old  and  young 
— to  looking  on  from  the  outside.  In  the  day- 
time the  wagons  and  tents  presented  a  dreary 
appearance,  sunk  in  snow,  the  dogs  shivering 
between  the  wheels,  and  but  little  other  sign  of 
life  visible.  When  dusk  came  the  lights  were 
lit  and  the  drummer  and  fifer  from  the  booth  of 
tumblers  were  sent  into  the  town  to  entice  an 
audience.  They  marched  quickly  through  the 
nipping,  windy  streets,  and  then  returned  with 
two  or  three  score  of  men,  women,  and  children, 
plunging  through  the  snow  or  mud  at  their  heavy 
heels.  It  was  Orpheus  fallen  from  his  high 
estate.  What  a  mockery  the  glare  of  the  lamps 
and  the  capers  of  the  mountebanks  were,  and  how 
satisfied  were  we  to  enjoy  it  all  without  going 
inside.  I  hear  the  "  Waterloo  veterans  "  still,  and 
remember  their  patriotic  outbursts  : 


AULD  LIGHT  ID YLS.  4 1 

On  the  sixteenth  day  of  June,  brave  boys,  while  cannon  loud 

did  roar, 
We  being  short  of  cavalry  they  pressed  on  us  full  sore  ; 
But  British  steel  soon  made  them  yield,  though  our  numbers 

was  but  few, 
And  death  or  victory  was  the  word  on  the  plains  of  Waterloo. 

The  storm-stead  shows  often  found  it  easier  to 
sink  to  rest  in  a  field  than  to  leave  it.  For  weeks 
at  a  time  they  were  snowed  up,  sufficiently  to 
prevent  any  one  from  Thrums  going  near  them, 
though  not  sufficiently  to  keep  the  pallid  mum- 
mers indoors.  That  would  in  many  cases  have 
meant  starvation.  They  managed  to  fight  their 
way  through  storm  and  snowdrift  to  the  high 
road  and  thence  to  the  town,  where  they  got 
meal  and  sometimes  broth.  The  tumblers  and 
jugglers  used  occasionally  to  hire  an  outhouse  in 
the  town  at  these  times — you  may  be  sure  they  did 
not  pay  for  it  in  advance — and  give  performances 
there.  It  is  a  curious  thing,  but  true,  that  our 
herd-boys  and  others  were  sometimes  struck  with 
the  stage-fever.  Thrums  lost  boys  to  the  show- 
men even  in  winter. 

On  the  whole,  the  farmers  and  the  people 
generally  were  won^derfully  long-suffering  with 
these  wanderers,  who  I  believe  were  more  hon- 
est than  was  to  be  expected.  They  stole,  cer- 
tainly ;  but  seldom  did  they  steal  anything  more 
valuable  than  turnips.  Sam'l  Mann  himself 
flushed  proudly  over  the  effect  his  show  once  had 


42  A ULD  LIGHT  IDYLS. 

on  an  irate  farmer.  The  farmer  appeared  in  the 
encampment,  whip  in  hand  and  furious.  They 
must  get  off  his  land  before  nightfall.  The  crafty- 
showman,  however,  prevailed  upon  him  to  take 
a  look  at  the  acrobats,  and  he  enjoyed  the  per- 
formance so  much  that  he  offered  to  let  them  stay 
until  the  end  of  the  week.  Before  that  time  came 
there  was  such  a  fall  of  snow  that  departure  was 
out  of  the  question  ;  and  it  is  to  the  farmer's  credit 
that  he  sent  Sam'l  a  bag  of  meal  to  tide  him  and 
his  actors  over  the  storm. 

There  were  times  when  the  showmen  made  a 
tour  of  the  bothies,  where  they  slung  their  poles 
and  ropes  and  gave  their  poor  performances  to 
audiences  that  were  not  critical.  The  bothy  being 
strictly  the  ''man's"  castle,  the  farmer  never  in- 
terfered ;  indeed,  he  was  sometimes  glad  to  see 
the  show.  Every  other  weaver  in  Thrums  used 
to  have  a  son  a  ploughman,  and  it  was  the  men 
from  the  bothies  who  filled  the  square  on  the 
muckly.  "Hands"  are  not  huddled  together 
nowadays  in  squalid  barns  more  like  cattle  than 
men  and  women,  but  bothies  in  the  neighbor- 
hood of  Thrums  are  not  yet  things  of  the  past. 
Many  a  ploughman  delves  his  way  to  and  from 
them  still  in  all  weathers,  when  the  snow  is  on  the 
ground;  at  the  time  of  "hairst,"  and  when  the 
turnip  ''shaws"  have  just  forced  themselves 
through  the  earth,  looking  like  straight  rows  of 
green  needles.     Here  is  a  picture  of  a  bothy  of 


A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS.  43 

to-day  that  I  visited  recently.  Over  the  door  there 
is  a  waterspout  that  has  given  way,  and  as  I 
entered  I  got  a  rush  of  rain  down  my  neck.  The 
passage  was  so  small  that  one  could  easily  have 
stepped  from  the  doorway  onto  the  ladder  stand- 
ing against  the  wall,  which  was  there  in  lieu  of  a 
staircase.  "Upstairs"  was  a  mere  garret,  where 
a  man  could  not  stand  erect  even  in  the  centre. 
It  was  entered  by  a  square  hole  in  the  ceiling,  at 
present  closed  by  a  clap-door  in  no  way  dissim- 
ilar to  the  trap-doors  on  a  theatre  stage.  I 
climbed  into  this  garret,  which  is  at  present  used 
as  a  store-room  for  agricultural  odds  and  ends. 
At  harvest-time,  however,  it  is  inhabited — full  to 
overflowing.  A  few  decades  ago  as  many  as 
fifty  laborers  engaged  for  the  harvest  had  to  be 
housed  in  the  farm  out-houses  on  beds  of  straw. 
There  was  no  help  for  it,  and  men  and  women 
had  to  congregate  in  these  barns  together.  Up 
as  early  as  five  in  the  morning,  they  were  gener- 
ally dead  tired  by  night ;  and,  miserable  though 
this  system  of  herding  them  together  was,  they 
took  it  like  stoics,  and  their  very  number  served 
as  a  moral  safeguard.  Nowadays  the  harvest  is 
gathered  in  so  quickly,  and  machinery  does  so 
much  that  used  to  be  done  by  hand,  that  this 
crowding  of  laborers  together,  which  was  the 
bothy  system  at  its  worst,  is  nothing  like  what  it 
was.  As  many  as  six  or  eight  men,  however,  are 
put  up  in  the  garret  referred  to  during  '*hairst"- 


44  A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS. 

time,  and  the  female  laborers  have  to  make  the 
best  of  it  in  the  barn.  There  is  no  doubt  that  on 
many  farms  the  two  sexes  have  still  at  this  busy 
time  to  herd  together  even  at  night. 

The  bothy  was  but  scantily  furnished,  though 
it  consisted  of  two  rooms.  In  the  one,  which 
was  used  almost  solely  as  a  sleeping  apartment, 
there  was  no  furniture  to  speak  of,  beyond  two 
closet  beds,  and  its  bumpy  earthen  floor  gave  it 
a  cheerless  look.  The  other,  which  had  a  single 
bed,  was  floored  with  wood.  It  was  not  badly 
lit  by  two  very  small  windows  that  faced  each 
other,  and  besides  several  stools,  there  was  a 
long  form  against  one  of  the  walls.  A  bright  fire 
of  peat  and  coal — nothing  in  the  world  makes  such 
a  cheerful  red  fire  as  this  combination — burned 
beneath  a  big  kettle  ("boiler"  they  called  it), 
and  there  was  a  "■  press  "  or  cupboard  containing 
a  fair  assortment  of  cooking  utensils.  Of  these 
some  belonged  to  the  bothy,  while  others  were 
the  private  property  of  the  tenants.  A  tin  "pan  " 
and  "  pitcher"  of  water  stood  near  the  door,  and 
the  table  in  the  middle  of  the  room  was  covered 
with  oilcloth. 

Four  men  and  a  boy  inhabited  this  bothy,  and 
the  rain  had  driven  them  all  indoors.  In  better 
weather  they  spend  the  leisure  of  the  evening  at 
the  game  of  quoits,  which  is  the  standard  pastime 
among  Scottish  ploughmen.  They  fish  the  neigh- 
boring streams,  too,  and  have  burn-trout  for  sup- 


A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS.  4  5 

per  several  times  a  week.  When  I  entered,  two 
of  them  were  sitting  by  the  fire  playing"  draughts, 
or,  as  they  called  it,  "the  dam-brod."  The  dam- 
brod  is  the  Scottish  laborer's  billiards  ;  and  he 
often  attains  to  a  remarkable  proficiency  at  the 
game.  Wylie,  the  champion  draught-player,  was 
once  a  herd-boy  ;  and  wonderful  stories  are  cur- 
rent in  all  bothies  of  the  times  when  his  master 
called  him  into  the  farm-parlor  to  show  his  skill. 
A  third  man,  who  seemed  the  elder  by  quite 
twenty  years,  was  at  the  window  reading  a  news- 
paper ;  and  I  got  no  shock  when  I  saw  that  it  was 
the  Saturday  Review,  which  he  and  a  laborer  on  an 
adjoining  farm  took  in  weekly  between  them. 
There  was  a  copy  of  a  local  newspaper — the 
People  s  Journal — also  lying  about,  and  some 
books,  including  one  of  Darwin's.  These  were 
all  the  property  of  this  man,  however,  who  did 
the  reading  for  the  bothy. 

They  did  all  the  cooking  for  themselves,  living 
largely  on  milk.  In  the  old  days,  which  the 
senior  could  remember,  porridge  was  so  universally 
the  morning  meal  that  they  called  it  by  that  name 
instead  of  breakfast.  They  still  breakfast  on  por- 
ridge, but  often  take  tea  *' above  it."  Generally 
milk  is  taken  with  the  porridge  ;  but  *  *  porter  "  or 
stout  in  a  bowl  is  no  uncommon  substitute.  Pota- 
toes at  twelve  o'clock — seldom  "brose"  nowa- 
days— are  the  staple  dinner  dish,  and  the  tinned- 
meats  have  become  very   popular.      There    are 


46  A  ULD  LICH  T  ID  YLS. 

bothies  where  each  man  makes  his  own  food ; 
but  of  course  the  more  satisfactory  plan  is  for 
them  to  club  together.  Sometimes  they  get  their 
food  in  the  farm-kitchen  ;  but  this  is  only  when 
there  are  few  of  them  and  the  farmer  and  his 
family  do  not  think  it  beneath  them  to  dine  with 
the  men.  Broth,  too,  may  be  made  in  the  kitchen 
and  sent  down  to  the  bothy.  At  harvest  time  the 
workers  take  their  food  in  the  fields,  when  great 
quantities  of  milk  are  provided.  There  is  very 
little  beer  drunk,  and  whiskey  is  only  consumed 
in  privacy. 

Life  in  the  bothies  is  not, I  should  say,  so  lonely 
as  life  at  the  school-house,  for  the  hands  have  at 
least  each  other's  company.  The  hawker  visits 
them  frequently  still,  though  the  itinerant  tailor, 
once  a  familiar  figure,  has  almost  vanished. 
Their  great  place  of  congregating  is  still  some 
country  smiddy,  which  is  also  their  frequent 
meeting-place  when  bent  on  black-fishing.  The 
flare  of  the  black-fisher's  torch  still  attracts  salmon 
to  their  death  in  the  rivers  near  Thrums  ;  and 
you  may  hear  in  the  glens  on  a  dark  night  the 
rattle  of  the  spears  on  the  wet  stones.  Twenty 
or  thirty  years  ago,  however,  the  sport  was  much 
more  common.  After  the  farmer  had  gone  to 
bed,  some  half-dozen  ploughmen  and  a  few  other 
poachers  from  Thrums  would  set  out  for  the 
meeting-place. 

The  smithy  on  these  occasions  must  have  been 


A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS.  47 

a  weird  sight ;  though  one  did  not  mark  that  at 
the  time.  The  poacher  crept  from  the  darkness 
into  the  glaring  smithy  light ;  for  in  country  parts 
the  anvil  might  sometimes  be  heard  clanging  at 
all  hours  of  the  night.  As  a  rule,  every  face  was 
blackened ;  and  it  was  this,  I  suppose,  rather 
than  the  fact  that  dark  nights  were  chosen,  that 
gave  the  gangs  the  name  of  black-fishers.  Other 
disguises  were  resorted  to  ;  one  of  the  commonest 
being  to  change  clothes  or  to  turn  your  corduroys 
out-side  in.  The  country  folk  of  those  days  were 
more  superstitious  than  they  are  now,  and  it  did 
not  take  much  to  turn  the  black-fishers  back. 
There  was  not  a  barn  or  byre  in  the  district  that 
had  not  its  horseshoe  over  the  door.  Another 
popular  device  for  frightening  away  witches  and 
fairies  was  to  hang  bunches  of  garlic  about  the 
farms.  I  have  known  a  black-fishing  expedition 
stopped  because  a  **  yellow  yite,"  or  yellow-ham- 
mer, hovered  round  the  gang  when  they  were 
setting  out.  Still  more  ominous  was  the  "peat  " 
when  it  appeared  with  one  or  three  companions. 
An  old  rhyme  about  this  bird  runs — *'One  is  joy, 
two  is  grief,  three's  a  bridal,  four  is  death." 
Such  snatches  of  superstition  are  still  to  be  heard 
amidst  the  gossip  of  a  north-country  smithy. 

Each  black-fisher  brought  his  own  spear  and 
torch,  both  more  or  less  home-made.  The  spears 
were  in  many  cases  ''gully-knives,"  fastened  to 
staves  with  twine  and  resin,  called  "rozet."   The 


48  A ULD  LIGHT  IDYLS. 

torches  were  very  rough-and-ready  things — rope 
and  tar,  or  even  rotten  roots  dug  from  broken 
trees — in  fact,  anything  that  would  flare.  The 
black-fishers  seldom  journeyed  far  from  home, 
confining  themselves  to  the  rivers  within  a  radius 
of  three  or  four  miles.  There  were  many  reasons 
for  this  :  one  of  them  being  that  the  hands  had  to 
be  at  their  work  on  the  farm  by  five  o'clock  in  the 
morning :  another,  that  so  they  poached  and  let 
poach.  Except  when  in  spate,  the  river  I  spe- 
cially refer  to  offered  no  attractions  to  the  black- 
fishers.  Heavy  rains,  however,  swell  it  much 
more  quickly  than  most  rivers  into  a  turbulent 
rush  of  water  ;  the  part  of  it  affected  by  the  black- 
fishers  being  banked  in  with  rocks  that  prevent 
the  water's  spreading.  Above  these  rocks,  again, 
are  heavy  green  banks,  from  which  stunted  trees 
grow  aslant  across  the  river.  The  effect  is  fear- 
some at  some  points  where  the  trees  run  into 
each  other,  as  it  were,  from  opposite  banks. 
However,  the  black-fishers  thought  nothing  of 
these  things.  They  took  a  turnip  lantern  with 
them — that  is,  a  lantern  hollowed  out  of  a  turnip, 
with  a  piece  of  candle  inside — but  no  lights-  were 
shown  on  the  road.  Every  one  knew  his  way 
to  the  river  blindfold ;  so  that  the  darker  the 
night  the  better.  On  reaching  the  water  there 
was  a  pause.  One  or  two  of  the  gang  climbed 
the  banks  to  discover  if  any  bailiffs  were  on  the 
watch  ;  while  the  others  sat  down,  and  with  the 


A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS.  49 

help  of  the  turnip  lantern  ''busked ''  their  spears ; 
in  other  words,  fastened  on  the  steel — or,  it 
might  be,  merely  pieces  of  rusty  iron  sharpened 
into  a  point  at  home — to  the  staves.  Some  had 
them  busked  before  they  set  out,  but  that  was 
not  considered  prudent ;  for  of  course  there  was 
always  a  risk  of  meeting  spoil-sports  on  the  way, 
to  whom  the  spears  would  tell  a  tale  that  could 
not  be  learned  from  ordinary  staves.  Neverthe- 
less little  time  was  lost.  Five  or  six  of  the  gang 
waded  into  the  water,  torch  in  one  hand  and  spear 
in  the  other ;  and  the  object  now  was  to  catch 
some  salmon  with  the  least  possible  delay,  and 
hurry  away.  Windy  nights  were  good  for  the 
sport,  and  I  can  still  see  the  river  lit  up  with  the 
lumps  of  light  that  a  torch  makes  in  a  high  wind. 
The  torches,  of  course,  were  used  to  attract  the 
fish,  which  came  swimming  to  the  sheen,  and 
were  then  speared.  As  little  noise  as  possible 
was  made  ;  but  though  the  men  bit  their  lips  in- 
stead of  crying  out  when  they  missed  their  fish, 
there  was  a  continuous  ring  of  their  weapons  on 
the  stones,  and  every  irrepressible  imprecation 
was  echoed  up  and  down  the  black  glen.  Two 
or  three  of  the  gang  were  told  off  to  land  the 
salmon,  and  they  had  to  work  smartly  and  deftly. 
They  kept  by  the  sid^  of  the  spearsman,  and  the 
moment  he  struck  a  fish  they  grabbed  at  it  with 
their  hands.  When  the  spear  had  a  barb  there 
was  less  chance  of  the  fish's  being  lost ;  but  often 
4 


50  A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS. 

this  was  not  the  case,  and  probably  not  more  than 
two-thirds  of  the  salmon  speared  were  got  safely 
to  the  bank.  The  takes  of  course  varied  ;  some- 
times, indeed,  the  black-fishers  returned  home 
empty-handed. 

Encounters  with  the  bailiffs  were  not  infre- 
quent, though  they  seldom  took  place  at  the 
water's  edge.  When  the  poachers  were  caught 
in  the  act,  and  had  their  blood  up  with  the  excite- 
ment of  the  sport,  they  were  ugly  customers. 
Spears  were  used  and  heads  were  broken.  Strug- 
gles even  took  place  in  the  water,  when  there 
was  always  a  chance  of  somebody's  being 
drowned.  Where  the  bailiffs  gave  the  black- 
fishers  an  opportunity  of  escaping  without  a  fight 
it  was  nearly  always  taken  ;  the  booty  being  left 
behind.  As  a  rule,  when  the  ''water  watchers," 
as  the  bailiffs  were  som.etimes  called,  had  an 
inkling  of  what  was  to  take  place,  they  reinforced 
themselves  with  a  constable  or  two  and  waited 
on  the  road  to  catch  the  poachers  on  their  way 
home.  One  black-fisher,  a  noted  character,  was 
nicknamed  the  ''Deil  o'  Glen  Quharity."  He 
was  said  to  have  gone  to  the  houses  of  the  bailiffs 
and  offered  to  sell  them  the  fish  stolen  from  the 
streams  over  which  they  kept  guard.  The  "  Deil  " 
was  never  imprisoned — partly,  perhaps,  because 
he  was  too  eccentric  to  be  taken  seriously. 


A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS.  5 1 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE   AULD    LIGHT   KIRK. 

One  Sabbath  day  in  the  beginning  of  the  cent- 
ury the  Auld  Licht  minister  at  Thrums  walked 
out  of  his  battered,  ramshackle,  earthen-floored 
kirk  with  a  following  and  never  returned.  The 
last  words  he  uttered  in  it  were  :  "  Follow  me  to 
the  commonty,  all  you  persons  who  want  to  hear 
the  Word  of  God  properly  preached  ;  and  James 
Duphie  and  his  two  sons  will  answer  for  this  on 
the  Day  of  Judgment/'  The  congregation,  which 
belonged  to  the  body  who  seceded  from  the  Es- 
tablished Church  a  hundred  and  fifty  years  ago, 
had  split,  and  as  the  New  Lights  (now  the  U. 
P.'s)  were  in  the  majority,  the  Old  Lights,  with  the 
minister  at  their  head,  had  to  retire  to  the  com- 
monty (or  common)  and  hold  service  in  the  open 
air  until  they  had  saved  up  money  for  a  church. 
They  kept  possession,  however,  of  the  white 
manse  among  the  trees.  Their  kirk  has  but  a 
cluster  of  members  now,  most  of  them  old  and 
done,  but  each  is  equal  to  a  dozen  ordinary 
church-goers,  and  there  have  been  men  and  women 
among  them  on   whom  memory  loves  to  linger. 


52  A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS. 

For  forty  years  they  have  been  dying  out,  but 
their  cold,  stiff  pews  still  echo  the  Psalms  of 
David,  and  the  Auld  Licht  kirk  will  remain  open 
so  long  as  it  has  one  member  and  a  minister. 

The  church  stands  round  the  corner  from  the 
square,  with  only  a  large  door  to  distinguish  it 
from  the  other  buildings  in  the  short  street. 
Children  who  want  to  do  a  brave  thing  hit  this  door 
with  their  fists,  when  there  is  no  one  near,  and 
then  run  away  scared.  The  door,  however,  is 
sacred  to  the  memory  of  a  white-haired  old  lady 
who,  not  so  long  ago,  used  to  march  out  of  the 
kirk  and  remain  on  the  pavement  until  the  psalm 
which  had  just  been  given  out  was  sung.  Of 
Thrums'  pavement  it  may  here  be  said  that  when 
you  come,  even  to  this  day,  to  a  level  slab  you  will 
feel  reluctant  to  leave  it.  The  old  lady  was  Mis- 
tress (which  is  Miss)  Tibbie  McQuhatty,  and  she 
nearly  split  the  Auld  Licht  kirk  over  ''run  line." 
This  conspicuous  innovation  was  introduced  by 
Mr.  Dishart,  the  minister,  when  he  was  young 
and  audacious.  The  old,  reverent  custom  in  the 
kirk  was  for  the  precentor  to  read  out  the  psalm 
a  line  at  a  time.  Having  then  sung  that  line  he 
read  out  the  next  one,  led  the  singing  of  it,  and 
so  worked  his  way  on  to  line  three.  Where  run 
line  holds,  however,  the  psalm  is  read  out  first, 
and  forthwith  sung.  This  is  not  only  a  flighty 
way  of  doing  things,  which  may  lead  to  greater 
scandals,  but  has  its  practical  disadvantages,  for 


A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS.  53 

the  precentor  always  starts  singing  in  advance  of 
the  congregation  (Auld  Lichts  never  being  able  to 
begin  to  do  anything  all  at  once),  and,  increasing 
the  distance  with  every  line,  leaves  them  hope- 
lessly behind  at  the  finish.  Miss  McQuhatty 
protested  against  this  change,  as  meeting  the 
devil  half  way,  but  the  minister  carried  his  point, 
and  ever  after  that  she  rushed  ostentatiously  from 
the  church  the  moment  a'psalm  was  given  out, 
and  remained  behind  the  door  until  the  singing 
was  finished,  when  she  returned,  with  a  rustle, 
to  her  seat.  Run  line  had  on  her  the  effect  of  the 
reading  of  the  Riot  Act.  Once  some  men,  capa- 
ble of  anything,  held  the  door  from  the  outside, 
and  the  congregation  heard  Tibbie  rampaging  in 
the  passage.  Bursting  into  the  kirk  she  called 
office-bearers  to  her  assistance,  whereupon  the 
minister  in  miniature  raised  his  voice  and  de- 
manded the  why  and  wherefore  of  the  ungodly 
disturbance.  Great  was  the  hubbub,  but  the  door 
was  fast,  and  a  compromise  had  to  be  arrived  at. 
The  old  lady  consented  for  once  to  stand  in  the 
passage,  but  not  without  pressing  her  hands  to 
her  ears.  You  may  smile  at  Tibbie,  but  ah  !  I 
know  what  she  was  at  a  sick  bedside.  I  have 
seen  her  when  the  hard  look  had  gone  from  her 
eyes,  and  it  would  ill  become  me  to  smile  too. 

As  with  all  the  churches  in  Thrums,  care  had 
been  taken  to  make  the  Auld  Licht  one  much  too 
large.     The  stair  to  the  **laft"  or  gallery,  which 


54  ^  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS. 

was  originally  little  more  than  a  ladder,  is  ready 
for  you  as  soon  as  you  enter  the  doorway,  but  it 
is  best  to  sit  in  the  body  of  the  kirk.  The  plate 
for  collections  is  inside  the  church,  so  that  the 
whole  congregation  can  give  a  guess  at  what  you 
give.  If  it  is  something  very  stingy  or  v  ery  liberal, 
all  Thrums  knows  of  it  within  a  few  hours  ;  in- 
deed, this  holds  good  of  all  the  churches,  espe- 
cially perhaps  of  the  Free  one,  which  has  been 
called  the  bawbee  kirk,  because  so  many  half- 
pennies find  their  way  into  the  plate.  On  Satur- 
day nights  the  Thrums  shops  are  besieged  for 
coppers  by  housewives  of  all  denominations,  who 
would  as  soon  think  of  dropping  a  three-penny 
bit  into  the  plate  as  of  giving  nothing.  Tammy 
Todd  had  a  curious  way  of  tipping  his  penny  into 
the  Auld  Licht  plate  while  still  keeping  his  hand 
to  his  side.  He  did  it  much  as  a  boy  fires  a 
marble,  and  there  was  quite  a  talk  in  the  congre- 
gation the  first  time  he  missed.  A  devout  plan 
was  to  carry  your  penny  in  your  hand  all  the  way 
to  church,  but  to  appear  to  take  it  out  of  your 
pocket  on  entering,  and  some  plumped  it  down 
noisily  like  men  paying  their  way.  I  believe  old 
Snecky  Hobart,  who  was  a  canty  stock,  but  obsti- 
nate, once  dropped  a  penny  into  the  plate  and 
took  out  a  halfpenny  as  change,  but  the  only  un- 
toward thing  that  happened  to  the  plate  was  once 
when  the  lassie  from  the  farm  of  Curly  Bog  cap- 
sized it  in  passing.     Mr.  Dishart,  who  was  always 


A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS.  55 

a  ready  man,  introduced  something  into  his  ser- 
mon that  day  about  women's  dress,  which  every 
one  hoped  Christy  Lundy,  the  lassie  in  question, 
would  remember.  Nevertheless,  the  minister 
sometimes  came  to  a  sudden  stop  himself  when 
passing  from  the  vestry  to  the  pulpit.  The  pas- 
sage being  narrow,  his  rigging  would  catch  in  a 
pew  as  he  sailed  down  the  aisle.  Even  then, 
however,  Mr.  Dishart  remembered  that  he  was 
not  as  other  men. 

White  is  not  a  religious  color,  and  the  walls  of 
the  kirk  were  of  a  dull  gray.  A  cushion  was 
allowed  to  the  manse  pew,  but  merely  as  a  symbol 
of  office,  and  this  was  the  only  pew  in  the  church 
that  had  a  door.  It  was  and  is  the  pew  nearest 
to  the  pulpit  on  the  minister's  right,  and  one  day 
it  contained  a  bonnet,  which  Mr.  Dishart's  pre- 
decessor preached  at  for  one  hour  and  ten  minutes. 
From  the  pulpit,  which  was  swaddled  in  black, 
the  minister  had  a  fine  sweep  of  all  the  congrega- 
tion except  those  m  the  back  pews  downstairs, 
who  were  lost  in  the  shadow  of  the  laft.  Here 
sat  Whinny  Webster,  so  called  because,  having 
an  inexplicable  passion  against  them,  he  devoted 
his  life  to  the  extermination  of  whins.  Whinny 
for  years  ate  peppermint  lozenges  with  impunity 
in  his  back  seat,  safe  in  the  certainty  that  the 
minister,  however  much  he  might  try,  could  not 
possibly  see  him.  But  his  day  came.  One  after- 
noon the  kirk  smelt  of  peppermints,  and  Mr.  Dis- 


56  AtJLD  LICHT  ID YL3. 

hart  could  rebuke  no  one,  for  the  defaultet  Was 
not  in  sight.  Whinny's  cheek  was  working  up 
and  down  in  quiet  enjoyment  of  its  lozenge,  when 
he  started,  noticing  that  the  preaching  had 
stopped.  Then  he  heard  a  sepulchral  voice  say 
**  Charles  Webster  !  "  Whinny's  eyes  turned  to  the 
pulpit,  only  part  of  which  was  visible  to  him,  and 
to  his  horror  they  encountered  the  minister's  head 
coming  down  the  stairs.  This  took  place  after 
I  had  ceased  to  attend  the  Auld  Licht  kirk  regu- 
larly ;  but  I  am  told  that  as  Whinny  gave  one 
wild  scream  the  peppermint  dropped  from  his 
mouth.  The  minister  had  got  him  leaning  over 
the  pulpit  door  until,  had  he  given  by  himself  only 
another  inch,  his  feet  would  have  gone  into  the 
air.  As  for  Whinny  he  became  a  God-fearing 
man. 

The  most  uncanny  thing  about  the  kirk  was  the 
precentor's  box  beneath  the  pulpit.  Three  Auld 
Licht  ministers  I  have  known,  but  I  can  only  con- 
ceive one  precentor.  Lang  Tammas'  box  was 
much  too  small  for  him.  Since  his  disappearance 
from  Thrums,  I  believe  they  have  paid  him  the 
compliment  of  enlarging  it  for  a  smaller  man,  no 
doubt  with  the  feeling  that  Tammas  alone  could 
look  like  a  Christian  m  it.  Like  the  whole  con- 
gregation, of  course,  he  had  to  stand  during  the 
prayers — the  first  of  which  averaged  half  an  hour 
m  length.  If  he  stood  erect  his  head  and  shoul- 
ders vanished  beneath  funereal  trappings,  when 


AULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS.  5  7 

he  seemed  decapitated,  and  if  he  stretched  his 
neck  the  pulpit  tottered.  He  looked  like  the  pillar 
on  which  it  rested,  or  he  balanced  it  on  his  head 
like  a  baker's  tray.  Sometimes  he  leaned  forward 
as  reverently  as  he  could,  and  then,  with  his  long, 
lean  arms  dangling  over  the  side  of  his  box,  he 
might  have  been  a  suit  of  "blacks"  hung  up  to 
dry.  Once  I  was  talking  with  Cree  Queery,  in  a 
sober,  respectable  manner,  when  all  at  once  a 
light  broke  out  on  his  face.  I  asked  him  what  he 
was  laughing  at,  and  he  said  it  was  at  Lang  Tam- 
mas.  He  got  grave  again  when  I  asked  him 
what  there  was  in  Lang  Tammas  to  smile  at,  and 
admitted  that  he  could  not  tell  me.  However,  I 
have  always  been  of  opinion  that  the  thought  of 
the  precentor  in  his  box  gave  Cree  a  fleeting  sense 
of  humor. 

Tammas  and  Hendry  Munn  were  the  two  paid 
officials  of  the  church,  Hendry  being  kirk-officer ; 
but  poverty  was  among  the  few  points  they 
had  in  common.  The  precentor  was  a  cobbler, 
though  he  never  knew  it,  shoemaker  being  the 
name  in  those  parts,  and  his  dwelling-room  was 
also  his  workshop.  There  he  sat  in  his  **brot/' 
or  apron,  from  early  morning  to  far  on  to  mid- 
night, and  contrived  to  make  his  six  or  eight  shil- 
lings a  week.  I  have  often  sat  with  him  in  the 
darkness  that  his  ''cruizey"  lamp  could  not 
pierce,  while  his  mutterings  to  himself  of  "ay, 
ay,  yes,  umpha,  oh  ay,  ay  man,"  came  as  regu- 


58  A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS. 

larly  and  monotonously  as  the  tick  of  his  "wag- 
at-the-wa'  "  clock.  Hendry  and  he  were  paid  no 
fixed  sum  for  their  services  in  the  Auld  Licht  kirk, 
but  once  a  year  there  was  a  collection  for  each  of 
them,  and  so  they  jogged  along.  Though  not  the 
only  kirk -officer  of  my  time  Hendry  made  the 
most  lasting  impression.  He  was,  I  think,  the 
only  man  in  Thrums  who  did  not  quake  when 
the  minister  looked  at  him.  A  wild  story,  never 
authenticated,  says  that  Hendry  once  offered  Mr. 
Dishart  a  snuff  from  his  mull.  In  the  streets 
Lang  Tammas  was  more  stern  and  dreaded  by 
evil-doers,  but  Hendry  had  first  place  in  the  kirk. 
One  of  his  duties  was  to  precede  the  minister  from 
the  session-house  to  the  pulpit  and  open  the  door 
for  him.  Having  shut  Mr.  Dishart  in  he  strolled 
aw^ay  to  his  seat.  When  a  strange  minister 
preached,  Hendry  was,  if  possible,  still  more  at 
his  ease.  This  will  not  be  believed,  but  I  have 
seen  him  give  the  pulpit-door  on  these  occasions 
a  fling  to  with  his  feet.  However  ill  an  ordinary 
member  of  the  congregation  might  become  in  the 
kirk  he  sat  on  till  the  service  ended,  but  Hendry 
would  wander  to  the  door  and  shut  it  if  he  noticed 
that  the  wind  was  playing  irreverent  tricks  with 
the  pages  of  Bibles,  and  proof  could  still  be 
brought  forward  that  he  would  stop  deliberately 
in  the  aisle  to  lift  up  a  piece  of  paper,  say,  that 
had  floated  there.  After  the  first  psalm  had 
been  sung  it  was  Hendry's  part  to  lift  up  the  plate 


AULD  LIGHT  IDYLS.  59 

and  carry  its  tinkling  contents  to  the  session- 
house.  On  the  greatest  occasions  he  remained  so 
calm,  so  indifferent,  so  expressionless,  that  he 
might  have  been  present  the  night  before  at  a  re- 
hearsal. 

When  there  was  preaching  at  night  the  church 
was  lit  by  tallow  candles,  which  also  gave  out  all 
the  artificial  heat  provided.  Two  candles  stood  on 
each  side  of  the  pulpit,  and  others  were  scattered 
over  the  church,  some  of  them  fixed  into  holes  on 
rough  brackets,  and  some  merely  sticking  in  their 
own  grease  on  the  pews.  Hendry  superintended 
the  lighting  of  the  candles,  and  frequently  hobbled 
through  the  church  to  snuff  them.  Mr.  Dishart 
was  a  man  who  could  do  anything  except  snuff  a 
candle,  but  when  he  stopped  in  his  sermon  to  do 
that  he  as  often  as  not  knocked  the  candle  over. 
In  vain  he  sought  to  refix  it  in  its  proper  place, 
and  then  all  eyes  turned  to  Hendry.  As  coolly 
as  though  he  were  in  a  public  hall  or  place  of  en- 
tertainment, the  kirk-officer  arose  and,  mounting 
the  stair,  took  the  candle  from  the  minister's  re- 
luctant hands  and  put  it  right.  Then  he  returned 
to  his  seat,  not  apparently  puffed  up,  yet  perhaps 
satisfied  with  himself ;  while  Mr.  Dishart,  glaring 
after  him  to  see  if  he  was  carrying  his  head  high, 
resumed  his  wordy  way. 

Never  was  there  a  man  more  uncomfortably 
loved  than  Mr.  Dishart.  Easie  Haggart,  his  maid- 
servant,   reproved    him    at  the    breakfast-tablQ. 


6o  A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS. 

Lang  Tammas  and  Sam'l  Mealmaker  crouched 
for  five  successive  Sabbath  nights  on  his  manse- 
wall  to  catch  him  smoking  (and  got  him).  Old 
wives  grumbled  by  their  hearths  when  he  did  not 
look  into  despair  of  their  salvation.  He  told  the 
maidens  of  his  congregation  not  to  make  an  idol 
of  him.  His  session  saw  him  (from  behind  a  hay- 
stack) in  conversation  with  a  strange  woman,  and 
asked  grimly  if  he  remembered  that  he  had  a  wife. 
Twenty  were  his  years  when  he  came  to  Thrums, 
and  on  the  very  first  Sabbath  he  knocked  a  board 
out  of  the  pulpit.  Before  beginning  his  trial  ser- 
mon he  handed  down  the  big  Bible  to  the  pre- 
centor, to  give  his  arms  free  swing.  The  con- 
gregation, trembling  with  exhilaration,  probed 
his  meaning.  Not  a  square  inch  of  paper,  they 
saw,  could  be  concealed  there.  Mr.  Dishart  had 
scarcely  any  hope  for  the  Auld  Lichts  ;  he 
had  none  for  any  other  denomination.  Davit 
Lunan  got  behind  his  handkerchief  to  think  for 
a  moment,  and  the  minister  was  on  him  like  a 
tiger.  The  call  was  unanimous.  Davit  proposed 
him. 

Every  few  years,  as  one  might  say,  the  Auld 
Licht  kirk  gave  way  and  buried  its  minister.  The 
congregation  turned  their  empty  pockets  inside 
out,  and  the  minister  departed  in  a  farmer's  cart. 
The  scene  was  not  an  amusing  one  to  those  who 
looked  on  at  it.  To  the  Auld  Lichts  was  then  the 
humiliation  of  seeing  their  pulpit  **  supplied  "  on 


A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS.  6 1 

alternate  Sabbaths  by  itinerant  probationers  or 
stickit  ministers.  When  they  were  not  starving 
themselves  to  support  a  pastor  the  Auld  Lichts 
were  saving  up  for  a  stipend.  They  retired  with 
compressed  lips  to  their  looms,  and  weaved  and 
weaved  till  they  weaved  another  minister.  With- 
out the  grief  of  parting  with  one  minister  there 
could  not  have  been  the  transport  of  choosing 
another.  To  have  had  a  pastor  always  might 
have  made  them  vainglorious. 

They  were  seldom  longer  than  twelve  months 
in  making  a  selection,  and  in  their  haste  they 
would  have  passed  over  Mr.  Dishart  and  mated 
with  a  monster.  Many  years  have  elapsed  since 
Providence  flung  Mr.  Watts  out  of  the  Auld  Licht 
kirk.  Mr.  Watts  was  a  probationer  who  was 
tried  before  Mr.  Dishart,  and,  though  not  so 
young  as  might  have  been  wished,  he  found 
favor  in  many  eyes.  ''Sluggard  in  the  laft, 
awake !  "  he  cried  to  Bell  Whamond,  who  had 
forgotten  herself,  and  it  was  felt  that  there  must 
be  good  stuff  in  him.  A  breeze  from  Heaven 
exposed  him  on  Communion  Sabbath. 

On  the  evening  of  this  solemn  day  the  door  of 
the  Auld  Licht  kirk  was  sometimes  locked,  and 
the  congregation  repaired,  Bible  in  hand,  to  the 
commonty.  They  had  a  right  to  this  common 
on  the  Communion  Sabbath,  but  only  took  ad- 
vantage of  it  when  it  was  believed  that  more  per- 
sons intended  witnessing  the  evening  service  than 


62  A  ULD  LICHT  ID  YLS. 

the  kirk  would  hold.  On  this  day  the  attendance 
was  always  very  great. 

It  was  the  Covenanters  come  back  to  life.  To 
the  summit  of  the  slope  a  wooden  box  was 
slowly  hurled  by  Hendry  Munn  and  others,  and 
round  this  the  congregation  quietly  grouped  to 
the  tinkle  of  the  cracked  Auld  Licht  bell.  With 
slow,  majestic  tread  the  session  advanced  upon 
the  steep  common  with  the  little  minister  in  their 
midst.  He  had  the  people  in  his  hands  now,  and 
the  more  he  squeezed  them  the  better  they  were 
pleased.  The  travelling  pulpit  consisted  of  two 
compartments,  the  one  for  the  minister  and  the 
other  for  Lang  Tammas,  but  no  Auld  Licht 
thought  that  it  looked  like  a  Punch  and  Judy 
puppet  show.  This  service  on  the  common  was 
known  as  the  "  tent  preaching,"  owing  to  a  tent's 
being  frequently  used  instead  of  the  box. 

Mr.  Watts  was  conducting  the  service  on  the 
commonty.  It  was  a  fine,  still  summer  evening, 
and  loud  above  the  whisper  of  the  burn  from 
which  the  ~  common  climbs,  and  the  labored 
**pechs"  of  the  listeners,  rose  the  preacher's 
voice.  The  Auld  Lichts  in  their  rusty  blacks 
(they  must  have  been  a  more  artistic  sight  in  the 
olden  days  of  blue  bonnets  and  knee-breeches) 
nodded  their  heads  in  sharp  approval,  for  though 
they  could  swoop  down  on  a  heretic  like  an  eagle 
on  carrion,  they  scented  no  prey.  Even  Lang 
Tammas,  on  whose  nose  a  drop  of  water  gath- 


A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS.  63 

ered  when  he  was  in  his  greatest  fettle,  thought 
that  all  was  fair  and  above-board.  Suddenly  a 
rush  of  wind  tore  up  the  common,  and  ran 
straight  at  the  pulpit.  It  formed  in  a  sieve,  and 
passed  over  the  heads  of  the  congregation,  who 
felt  it  as  a  fan,  and  looked  up  in  awe.  Lang 
Tammas,  feeling  himself  all  at  once  grow 
clammy,  distinctly  heard  the  leaves  of  the  pulpit 
Bible  shiver.  Mr.  Watts'  hands,  outstretched  to 
prevent  a  catastrophe,  were  blown  against  his 
side,  and  then  some  twenty  sheets  of  closely 
written  paper  floated  into  the  air.  There  was  a 
horrible,  deadsilence.  The  burn  was  roaring  now. 
The  minister,  if  such  he  can  be  called,  shrank  back  in 
his  box,  and,  as  if  they  had  seen  it  printed  in  letters 
of  fire  on  the  heavens,  the  congregation  reaHzed 
that  Mr.  Watts,  whom  they  had  been  on  the  point 
of  calling,  read  his  sermon.  He  wrote  it  out  on 
pages  the  exact  size  of  those  in  the  Bible,  and  did 
not  scruple  to  fasten  these  into  the  Holy  Book  it- 
self. At  theatres  a  sullen  thunder  of  angry  voices 
behind  the  scene  represents  a  crowd  in  a  rage, 
and  such  a  low,  long-drawn  howl  swept  the  com- 
mon when  Mr.  Watts  was  found  out.  To  follow 
a  pastor  who  "read"  seemed  to  the  Auld  Lichts 
like  claiming  heaven  on  false  pretences.  In  ten 
minutes  the  session  alone,  with  Lang  Tammas 
and  Hendry,  were  on  the  common.  They  were 
watched  by  many  from  afar  off,  and  (when  one 
comes  to  think  of  it  now)  looked  a  little  curious 


64  AULD  Lie HT  IDYLS. 

jumping,  like  trout  at  flies,  at  the  damning  papers 
still  fluttering  in  the  air.  The  minister  was  never 
seen  in  our  parts  again,  but  he  is  still  remembered 
as  **  Paper  Watts/' 

Mr.  Dishart  in  the  pulpit  was  the  reward  of  his 
upbringing.  At  ten  he  had  entered  the  univer- 
sity. Before  he  was  in  his  teens  he  was  practic- 
ing the  art  of  gesticulation  in  his  father's  gallery- 
pew.  From  distant  congregations  people  came 
to  marvel  at  him.  He  was  never  more  than 
comparatively  young.  So  long  as  the  pulpit 
trappings  of  the  kirk  at  Thrums  lasted  he  could 
be  seen,  once  he  was  fairly  under  way  with 
his  sermon,  but  dimly  in  a  cloud  of  dust.  He  in- 
troduced headaches.  In  a  grand  transport  of  en- 
thusiasm he  once  flung  his  arms  over  the  pulpit 
and  caught  Lang  Tammas  on  the  forehead. 
Leaning  forward,  with  his  chest  on  the  cushions, 
he  would  pommel  the  Evil  One  with  both  hands, 
and  then,  whirling  round  to  the  left,  shake  his  fist 
at  Bell  Whamond's  neckerchief.  With  a  sudden 
jump  he  would  fix  Pete  Todd's  youngest  boy 
catching  flies  at  the  laft  window.  Stiffening  un- 
expectedly, he  would  leap  three  times  in  the  air, 
and  then  gather  himself  in  a  corner  for  a  fear- 
some spring.  When  he  wept  he  seemed  to  be 
laughing,  and  he  laughed  in  a  paroxysm  of  tears. 
He  tried  to  tear  the  devil  out  of  the  pulpit  rails. 
When  he  was  not  a  teetotum  he  was  a  windmill. 
His    pump    position    was    the    most  appalling. 


A  ULD  LiCHT  ID  YLS.  6$ 

Then  he  glared  motionless  at  his  admiring  listen- 
ers, as  if  he  had  fallen  into  a  trance  with  his  arm 
upraised.  The  hurricane  broke  next  moment. 
Nanny  Sutie  bore  up  under  the  shadow  of  the 
windmill — which  would  have  been  heavier  had 
Auld  Licht  ministers  worn  gowns — but  the  pump 
affected  her  to  tears.     She  was  stone-deaf. 

For  the  first  year  or  more  of  his  ministry  an 
Auld  Licht  minister  was  a  mouse  among  cats. 
Both  in  the  pulpit  and  out  of  it  they  watched  for 
unsound  doctrine,  and  when  he  strayed  they  took 
him  by  the  neck.  Mr.  Dishart,  however,  had 
been  brought  up  in  the  true  way,  and  seldom 
gave  his  people  a  chance.  In  time,  it  may  be 
said,  they  grew  despondent,  and  settled  in  their 
uncomfortable  pews  with  all  suspicion  of  lurking 
heresy  allayed.  It  was  only  on  such  Sabbaths  as 
Mr.  Dishart  changed  pulpits  with  another  minis- 
ter that  they  cocked  their  ears  and  leaned  forward 
eagerly  to  snap  the  preacher,  up. 

Mr.  Dishart  had  his  trials.  There  was  the 
split  in  the  kirk,  too,  that  comes  once  at  least 
to  every  Auld  Licht  minister.  He  was  long  in 
marrying.  The  congregation  were  thinking  of 
approaching  him,  through  the  medium  of  his 
servant,  Easie  Haggart,  on  the  subject  of  matri- 
mony ;  for  a  bachelor  coming  on  for  twenty-two, 
with  an  income  of  eighty  pounds  per  annum, 
seemed  an  anomaly — when  one  day  he  took  the 
canal  for  Edinburgh,  and  returned  vrith  his  bride. 
5 


66  A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS. 

His  people  nodded  their  heads,  but  said  nothing 
to  the  minister.  If  he  did  not  choose  to  take 
them  into  his  confidence,  it  was  no  affair  of 
theirs.  That  there  was  something  queer  about 
the  marriage,  however,  seemed  certain.  Sandy 
Whamond,  who  was  a  soured  man  after  losing 
his  eldership,  said  that  he  believed  she  had  been 
an  '"Englishy" — in  other  words,  had  belonged 
to  the  English  Church ;  but  it  is  not  probable  that 
Mr.  Dishart  would  have  gone  the  length  of  that. 
The  secret  is  buried  in  his  grave. 

Easie  Haggart  jagged  the  minister  sorely.  She 
grew  loquacious  with  years,  and  when  he  had 
company  would  stand  at  the  door  joining  in  the 
conversation.  If  the  company  was  another 
minister,  she  would  take  a  chair  and  discuss  Mr. 
Dishart's  infirmities  with  him.  The  Auld  Lichts 
loved  their  minister,  but  they  saw  even  more 
clearly  than  himself  the  necessity  for  his  humilia- 
tion. His  wife  made  all  her  children's  clothes, 
but  Sanders  Gow  complained  that  she  looked  too 
like  their  sister.  In  one  week  three  of  the  chil- 
dren died,  and  on  the  Sabbath  following  it  rained. 
Mr.  Dishart  preached,  twice  breaking  down  alto- 
gether, and  gapmg  strangely  round  the  kirk 
(there  was  no  dust  flying  that  day),  and  spoke  of 
the  rain  as  angels'  tears  for  three  little  girls.  The 
Auld  Lichts  let  it  pass,  but,  as  Lang  Tammas 
said  in  private  (for,  of  course,  the  thing  was 
much  disoussed  at  the  looms),  if  you  materialize 


A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS.  67 

angels  in  that  way,    where   are  you  going   to 
stop  ? 

It  was  on  the  fast-days  that  the  Auld  Licht  kirk 
showed  what  it  was  capable  of,  and,  so  to  speak, 
left  all  the  other  churches  in  Thrums  far  behind. 
The  fast  came  round  once  every  summer,  begin- 
ning on  a  Thursday,  when  all  the  looms  were 
hushed,  and  two  services  were  held  in  the  kirk, 
of  about  three  hours'  length  each.  A  minister 
from  another  town  assisted  at  these  times,  and 
when  the  service  ended  the  members  filed  in  at 
one  door  and  out  at  another,  passing  on  their 
way  Mr.  Dishart  and  his  elders,  who  dispensed 
"  tokens  "  at  the  foot  of  the  pulpit.  Without  a 
token,  which  was  a  metal  lozenge,  no  one  could 
take  the  sacrament  on  the  coming  Sabbath,  and 
many  a  member  has  Mr.  Dishart  made  miserable 
by  refusing  him  his  token  for  gathering  wild- 
flowers,  say,  on  a  Lord's  Day  (as  testified  to  by 
another  member).  Women  were  lost  who 
cooked  dinners  on  the  Sabbath,  or  took  to  col- 
ored ribbons,  or  absented  themselves  from  church 
without  sufficient  cause.  On  the  fast-day,  fists 
were  shaken  at  Mr.  Dishart  as  he  walked  sternly 
homeward,  but  he  was  undismayed.  Next  day 
there  were  no  services  in  the  kirk,  for  Auld  Lichts 
could  not  afford  many  holidays,  but  they  weaved 
solemnly,  with  Saturday  and  the  Sabbath  and 
Monday  to  think  of.  On  Saturday,  service  be- 
gan at  two,  and  lasted  until  nearly  seven.      Two 


68  A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS. 

sermons  were  preached,  but  there  was  no  inter- 
val. The  sacrament  was  dispensed  on  the  Sab- 
bath. Nowadays  the  *  *  tables "  in  the  Auld 
Licht  kirk  are  soon  ''served,"  for  the  attendance 
has  decayed,  and  most  of  the  pews  in  the  body 
of  the  church  are  made  use  of.  In  the  days  of 
which  I  speak,  however,  the  front  pews  alone 
were  hung  with  white,  and  it  was  in  them  only 
the  sacrament  was  administered.  As  many 
members  as  could  get  into  them  delivered  up 
their  tokens  and  took  the  first  table.  Then  they 
made  room  for  others,  who  sat  in  their  pews 
awaiting  their  turn.  What  with  tables,  the 
preaching,  and  unusually  long  prayers,  the  serv- 
ice lasted  from  eleven  to  six.  At  half-past  six  a 
two  hours'  service  began,  either  in  the  kirk  or  on 
the  common,  from  which  no  one  who  thought 
much  about  his  immortal  soul  would  have  dared 
(or  cared)  to  absent  himself  A  four  hours'  serv- 
ice on  the  Monday,  which,  like  that  of  the  Satur- 
day, consisted  of  two  services  in  one,  but  began 
at  eleven  instead  of  two,  completed  the  pro- 
gramme. 

On  those  days,  if  you  were  a  poor  creature  and 
wanted  to  acknowledge  it,  you  could  leave  the 
church  for  a  few  minutes  and  return  to  it,  but  the 
creditable  thing  was  to  sit  on.  Even  among  the 
children  there  was  a  keen  competition,  fostered 
by  their  parents,  to  sit  each  other  out,  and  be  in 
at  the  death. 


A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS.  69 

The  other  Thrums  kirks  held  the  sacrament  at 
the  same  time,  but  not  with  the  same  vehemence. 
As  far  north  from  the  school-house  as  Thrums  is 
south  of  it,  nestles  the  little  village  of  Quharity, 
and  there  the  fast-day  was  not  a  day  of  fasting. 
In  most  cases  the  people  had  to  go  many  miles 
to  church.  They  drove  or  rode  (two  on  a  horse), 
or  walked  in  from  other  glens.  Without  "the 
tents,"  therefore,  the  congregation,  with  a  long 
day  before  them,  would  have  been  badly  off. 
Sometimes  one  tent  sufficed  ;  at  other  times  rival 
publicans  were  on  the  ground.  The  tents  were 
those  in  use  at  the  feeing  and  other  markets,  and 
you  could  get  anything  inside  them,  from  broth 
made  in  a  "boiler"  to  the  firiest  whiskey.  They 
were  planted  just  outside  the  kirk-gate — long, 
low  tents  of  dirty  white  canvas — so  that  when 
passing  into  the  church  or  out  of  it  you  inhaled 
their  odors.  The  congregation  emerged  austerely 
from  the  church,  shaking  their  heads  solemnly 
over  the  minister's  remarks,  and  their  feet  carried 
them  into  the  tent.  There  was  no  mirth,  no  un- 
seemly revelry,  but  there  was  a  great  deal  of 
hard  drinking.  Eventually  the  tents  were  done 
away  with,  but  not  until  the  services  on  the  fast- 
days  were  shortened.  The  Auld  Licht  ministers 
were  the  only  ones  who  preached  against  the 
tents  with  any  heart,  and  since  the  old  dominie, 
my  predecessor  at  the  school-house,  died,  there 


fO  A I/IP  LICHT  ID  VIS. 

has  not  been  an  Auld  Licht  permanently  resident 
in  the  glen  of  Quharity. 

Perhaps  nothing  took  it  out  of  the  Auld  Licht 
tnales  so  much  as  a  christening.  Then  alone 
they  showed  symptoms  of  nervousness,  more 
especially  after  the  remarkable  baptism  of  Eppie 
Whamond.  I  could  tell  of  several  scandals  in  con- 
nection with  the  kirk.  There  was,  for  instance, 
the  time  when  Easie  Haggart  saved  the  minister. 
In  a  fit  of  temporary  mental  derangement  the 
misguided  man  had  one  Sabbath  day,  despite 
the  entreaties  of  his  affrighted  spouse,  called  at  the 
post-office,  and  was  on  the  point  of  reading  the 
letter  there  received  when  Easie,  who  had  slipped 
on  her  bonnet  and  followed  him,  snatched  the 
secular  thing  from  his  hands.  There  was  the 
story  that  ran  like  fire  through  Thrums  and 
crushed  an  innocent  man,  to  the  effect  that  Pete 
Todd  had  been  in  an  Edinburgh  theatre  counte- 
nancing the  play-actors.  Something  could  be 
made,  too,  of  the  retribution  that  came  to  Charlie 
Ramsay,  who  woke  in  his  pew  to  discover 
that  its  other  occupant,  his  little  son  Jamie,  was 
standing  on  the  seat  divesting  himself  of  his 
clothes  in  presence  of  a  horrified  congregation. 
Jamie  had  begun  stealthily,  and  had  very  little 
on  when  Charlie .  seized  him.  But  having 
my  choice  of  scandals  I  prefer  the  christen- 
ing one — the  unique  case  of  Eppie  Whamond, 
who    was  born    late    on    Saturday     night    and 


A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  VLS.  7 1 

baptized    in    the    kirk    on    the    following  fore- 
noon. 

To  the  casual  observer  the  Auld  Licht  always 
looked  as  if  he  were  returning  from  burying  a 
near  relative.  Yet  when  I  met  him  hobbling 
down  the  street,  preternaturally  grave  and  occu- 
pied, experience  taught  me  that  he  was  preparing 
for  a  christening.  How  the  minister  would  have 
borne  himself  in  the  event  of  a  member  of  his 
congregation's  wanting  the  baptism  to  take  place 
at  home  it  is  not  easy  to  say ;  but  I  shudder  to 
think  of  the  public  prayers  for  the  parents  that 
would  certainly  have  followed.  The  child  was 
carried  to  the  kirk  through  rain,  or  snow,  or  sleet, 
or  wind;  the  father  took  his  seat  alone  in  the 
front  pew,  under  the  minister's  eye,  and  the  serv- 
ice was  prolonged  far  into  the  afternoon.  But 
though  the  references  in  the  sermon  to  that  un- 
happy object  of  interest  in  the  front  pew  were 
many  and  pointed,  his  time  had  not  really  come 
until  the  minister  signed  to  him  to  advance  as  far 
as  the  second  step  of  the  pulpit-stairs.  The  ner- 
vous father  clenched  the  railing  in  a  daze,  and 
cowered  before  the  ministerial  heckling.  From 
warning  the  minister  passed  to  exhortation,  from 
exhortation  to  admonition,  from  admonition  to 
searching  questioning,  from  questioning  to  prayer 
and  wailing.  When  the  father  glanced  up,  there 
was  the  radiant  boy  in  the  pulpit  looking  as  if  he 
would  like  to  jump  down  his  throat.     If  he  hung 


72  AULD  Lie HT  IDYLS. 

his  head  the  minister  would  ask,  with  a  groan, 
whether  he  was  unprepared  ;  and  the  whole  con- 
gregation would  sigh  out  the  response  that  Mr. 
Dishart  had  hit  it.  When  he  replied  audibly  to 
the  minister's  uncomfortable  questions,  a  pained 
look  at  his  flippancy  travelled  from  the  pulpit  all 
around  the  pews  ;  and  when  he  only  bowed  his 
head  in  answer,  the  minister  paused  sternly,  and 
the  congregation  wondered  what  the  man  meant. 
Little  wonder  that  Davie  Haggart  took  to  drink- 
ing when  his  turn  came  for  occupying  that  front 
pew. 

If  wee  Eppie  Whamond's  birth  had  been  de- 
ferred until  the  beginning  of  the  week,  or  humil- 
ity had  shown  more  prominently  among  her 
mother's  virtues,  the  kirk  would  have  been  saved 
a  painful  scandal,  and  Sandy  Whamond  might 
have  retained  his  eldership.  Yet  it  was  a  foolish 
but  wifely  pride  in  her  husband's  official  position 
that  turned  Bell  Dundas'  head — a  wild  ambition 
to  beat  all  baptismal  record. 

Among  the  wives  she  was  esteemed  a  poor 
body  whose  infant  did  not  see  the  inside  of  the 
kirk  within  a  fortnight  of  its  birth.  Forty  years 
ago  it  was  an  accepted  superstition  in  Thrums 
that  the  ghosts  of  children  who  had  died  before 
they  were  baptized  went  wailing  and  ringing  their 
hands  round  the  kirk-yard  at  nights,  and  that 
they  would  continue  to  do  this  until  the  crack  of 
doom.     When  the  Auld  Licht  children  grew  up, 


A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  VIS.  73 

too,  they  crowed  over  those  of  their  fellows 
whose  christening  had  been  deferred  until  a  com- 
paratively late  date,  and  the  mothers  who  had 
needlessly  missed  a  Sabbath  for  long  afterward 
hung  their  heads.  That  was  a  good  and  credita- 
ble birth  which  took  place  early  in  the  week, 
thus  allowing  time  for  suitable  christening 
preparations  ;  while  to  be  born  on  a  Friday  or  a 
Saturday  was  to  humiliate  your  parents,  be- 
sides being  an  extremely  ominous  beginning 
for  yourself.  Without  seeking  to  vindicate 
Bell  Dundas'  behavior,  I  may  note,  as  an  act 
of  ordinary  fairness,  that,  being  the  leading 
elder's  wife,  she  was  sorely  tempted.  Eppie 
made  her  appearance  at  9:  45  on  a  Saturday 
night. 

In  the  hurry  and  skurry  that  ensued,  Sandy 
escaped  sadly  to  the  square.  His  infant  would 
be  baptized  eight  days  old — one  of  the  longest  de- 
ferred christenings  of  the  year.  Sandy  was  shiv- 
ering under  the  clock  when  I  met  him  accident- 
ally and  took  him  home.  But  by  that  time  the 
harm  had  been  done.  Several  of  the  congrega- 
tion had  been  roused  from  their  beds  to  hear  his 
lamentations,  of  whom  the  men  sympathized  with 
him,  while  the  wives  triumphed  austerely  over 
Bell  Dundas.  As  I  wrung  poor  Sandy's  hand,  I 
hardly  noticed  that  a  bright  light  showed  dis- 
tinctly between  the  shutters  of  his  kitchen-win- 
dow ;    but  the  elder  himself    turned  pale  and 


74  A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS. 

breathed  quickly.  It  was  then  fourteen  minutes 
past  twelve. 

My  heart  sank  within  me  on  the  following 
forenoon,  when  Sandy  Whamond  walked,  with 
a  queer  twitching  face,  into  the  front  pew  under 
a  glare  of  eyes  from  the  body  of  the  kirk  and  the 
laft.  An  amazed  buzz  went  round  the  church, 
followed  by  a  pursing  up  of  lips  and  hurried 
whisperings.  Evidently  Sandy  had  been  driven 
to  it  against  his  own  judgment.  The  scene  is 
still  vivid  before  me  :  the  minister  suspecting  no 
guile,  and  omitting  the  admonitory  stage  out  of 
compliment  to  the  elder's  standing ;  Sandy's 
ghastly  face  ;  the  proud  godmother  (aged  twelve) 
with  the  squalling  baby  in  her  arms  ;  the  horror 
of  the  congregation  to  a  man  and  woman.  A 
slate  fell  from  Sandy's  house  even  as  he  held  up 
the  babe  to  the  minister  to  receive  a  "  droukin  "  of 
water,  and  Eppie  cried  so  vigorously  that  her 
shamed  godmother  had  to  rush  with  her  to  the 
vestry.  Now  things  are  not  as  they  should  be 
when  an  Auld  Licht  infant  does  not  quietly  sit 
out  her  first  service. 

Bell  tried  for  a  time  to  carry  her  head  high  ; 
but  Sandy  ceased  to  w^histle  at  his  loom,  and  the 
scandal  was  a  rolling  stone  that  soon  passed  over 
him.  Briefly  it  amounted  to  this  :  that  a  bairn 
born  within  two  hours  of  midnight  on  Saturday 
could  not  have  been  ready  for  christening  at  the 
kirk  next  day  without  the  breaking  of  the  Sabbath. 


A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS.  75 

Had  the  secret  of  the  nocturnal  light  been  mine 
alone  all  might  have  been  well  ;  but  Betsy  Mund's 
evidence  was  irrefutable.  Great  had  been  Bell's 
cunning,  but  Betsy  had  outwitted  her.  Passing 
the  house  on  the  eventful  night,  Betsy  had  ob- 
served Marget  Dundas,  Bell's  sister,  open  the  door 
and  creep  cautiously  to  the  window,  the  chinks 
in  the  outside  shutters  of  which  she  cunningly 
closed  up  with  "tow."  As  in  a  flash  the  disgusted 
Betsy  saw  what  Bell  was  up  to,  and,  removing 
the  tow,  planted  herself  behind  the  dilapidated 
dyke  opposite,  and  awaited  events.  Questioned 
at  a  special  meeting  of  the  office-bearers  in  the 
vestry,  she  admitted  that  the  lamp  was  extin- 
guished soon  after  twelve  o'clock,  though  the  fire 
burned  brightly  all  night.  There  had  been  un- 
necessary feasting  during  the  night,  and  six  eggs 
were  consumed  before  breakfast-time.  Asked 
how  she  knew  this,  she  admitted  having  counted 
the  eggshells  that  Marget  had  thrown  out  of  doors 
in  the  morning.  This,  with  the  testimony  of  the 
persons  from  whom  Sandy  had  sought  condolence 
on  the  Saturday  night,  was  the  case  for  the  prose- 
cution. For  the  defense.  Bell  maintained  that  all 
preparations  stopped  when  the  clock  struck 
twelve,  and  even  hinted  that  the  bairn  had  been 
born  on  Saturday  afternoon.  But  Sandy  knew  that 
he  and  his  had  got  a  fall.  In  the  forenoon  of  the 
following  Sabbath  the  minister  preached  from  the 
text,  **Be  sure  your  sin  will  find  you  out;  "  and 


76  A ULD  LIGHT  IDYLS. 

in  the  afternoon  from  *'  Pride  goeth  before  a  fall." 
He  was  grand.  In  the  evening  Sandy  tendered 
his  resignation  of  office,  which  was  at  once  ac- 
cepted. Wobs  were  behind-hand  for  a  week, 
owing  to  the  length  of  the  prayers  offered  up  for 
Bell ;  and  Lang  Tammas  ruled  in  Sandy's  stead. 


A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS,  77 


CHAPTER  IV. 

LADS     AND     LASSES. 

With  the  severe  Auld  Lichts  the  Sabbath  began 
at  six  o'clock  on  Saturday  evening.  By  that  time 
the  gleaming  shuttle  was  at  rest,  Davie  Haggart 
had  strolled  into  the  village  from  his  pile  of 
stones  in  the  Whunny  road ;  Henry  Robb,  the 
"dummy,"  had  sold  his  last  barrowful  of  " roz- 
etty  (resiny)  roots  "  for  firewood  ;  and  the  people, 
having  tranquilly  supped  and  soused  their  faces 
in  their  water-pails,  slowly  donned  their  Sunday 
clothes.  This  ceremony  was  common  to  all ;  but 
here  divergence  set  in.  The  gray  Auld  Licht,  to 
whom  love  was  not  even  a  name,  sat  in  his  high- 
backed  arm-chair  by  the  hearth,  Bible  or  "Pil- 
grim's Progress "  in  hand,  occasionally  lapsing 
into  slumber.  But — though,  when  they  got  the 
chance,  they  went  willingly  three  times  to  the 
kirk — there  were  young  men  in  the  community 
so  flighty  that,  instead  of  dozing  at  home  on  Sat- 
urday night,  they  dandered  casually  into  the 
square,  and,  forming  into  knots  at  the  corners, 
talked  solemnly  and  mysteriously  ot  women. 

Not  even  on  the  night  preceding  his  wedding 


78  A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS. 

was  an  Auld  Licht  ever  known  to  stay  out  after 
ten  o'clock.  So  weekly  conclaves  at  street-cor- 
ners came  to  an  end  at  a  comparatively  early  hour, 
one  Coelebs  after  another  shuffling  silently  from 
the  square  until  it  echoed,  deserted,  to  the  town- 
house  clock.  The  last  of  the  gallants,  gradually 
discovering  that  he  was  alone,  would  look  around 
him  musingly,  and,  taking  in  the  situation,  slowly 
wend  his  way  home.  On  no  other  night  of  the 
week  was  frivolous  talk  about  the  softer  sex  in- 
dulged in,  the  Auld  Lichts  being  creatures  of 
habit,  who  never  thought  of  smiling  on  a  Mon- 
day. Long  before  they  reached  their  teens  they 
were  earning  their  keep  as  herds  in  the  surround- 
mg  glens  or  filling  ' '  pirns  "  for  their  parents  ;  but 
they  were  generally  on  the  brink  of  twenty  before 
they  thought  seriously  of  matrimony.  Up  to  that 
time  they  only  trifled  with  the  other  sex's  affec- 
tions at  a  distance — filling  a  maid's  water-pails, 
perhaps,  when  no  one  was  looking,  or  carrying 
her  wob  ;  at  the  recollection  of  which  they  would 
slap  their  knees  almost  jovially  on  Saturday  night. 
A  wife  was  expected  to  assist  at  the  loom  as  well 
as  to  be  cunning  in  the  making  of  marmalade 
and  the  firing  of  bannocks,  and  there  was  conse- 
quently some  heartburning  among  the  lads  for 
maids  of  skill  and  muscle.  The  Auld  Licht,  how- 
ever, who  meant  marriage  seldom  loitered  in  the 
streets.  By-and-bye  there  came  a  time  when  the 
clock  looked  down  through  its  cracked  glass  upon 


A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS.  79 

the  hemmed-in  square  and  saw  him  not.  His 
companions,  gazing  at  each  others  boots,  felt 
that  something  was  going  on,  but  made  no  re- 
mark. 

A  month  ago,  passing  through  the  shabby, 
familiar  square,  I  brushed  against  a  withered  old 
man  tottering  down  the  street  under  a  load  of 
yam.  It  was  piled  on  a  wheelbarrow,  which  his 
feeble  hands  could  not  have  raised  but  for  the 
rope  of  yarn  that  supported  it  from  his  shoulders  ; 
and  though  Auld  Licht  was  written  on  his  patient 
eyes,  I  did  not  immediately  recognize  Jamie 
Whamond.  Years  -ago  Jamie  was  a  sturdy  weaver 
and  fervent  lover,  whom  I  had  the  right  to  call 
my  friend.  Turn  back  the  century  a  few  decades, 
and  we  are  together  on  a  moonlight  night,  taking 
a  short  cut  through  the  fields  from  the  farm 
of  Craigiebuckle,  Buxom  were  Craigiebuckle's 
*'dochters,"  and  Jamie  was  Janet's  accepted 
suitor.  It  was  a  muddy  road  through  damp 
grass,  and  we  picked  our  way  silently  over  its 
ruts  and  pools.  "I'm  thinkin','' Jamie  said  at 
last,  a  little  wistfully,  "  that  I  might  hae  been  as 
weel  wi'Chirsty."  Chirsty  was  Janet's  sister,  and 
Jamie  had  first  thought  of  her.  Craigiebuckle, 
however,  strongly  advised  him  to  take  Janet  in- 
stead, and  he  consented.  Alack  !  heavy  wobs 
have  taken  all  the  grace  from  Janet's  shoulders 
this  many  a  year,  though  she  and  Jamie  go 
bravely  down  the  hill  together.     Unless  they  pass 


So  AULD  LIGHT  IDYLS. 

the  allotted  span  of  life,  the  "  poor-house  "  will 
never  know  them.  As  for  bonny  Chirsty,  she 
proved  a  flighty  thing,  and  married  a  deacon  in 
the  Established  Church.  The  Auld  Lichts  groaned 
over  her  fall,  Craigiebuckle  hung  his  head,  and 
the  minister  told  her  sternly  to  go  her  way.  But 
a  few  weeks  afterward  Lang  Tammas,  the  chief 
elder,  was  observed  talking  with  her  for  an  hour 
in  Cowrie's  close ;  and  the  very  next  Sabbath 
Chirsty  pushed  her  husband  in  triumph  into  her 
father's  pew.  The  minister,  though  completely 
taken  by  surprise,  at  once  referred  to  the  stranger, 
in  a  prayer  of  great  length,  as  a  brand  that  might 
yet  be  plucked  from  the  burning.  Changing  his 
text,  he  preached  at  him  ;  Lang  Ta/nmas,  the 
precentor,  and  the  whole  congregation  (Chirsty 
included)  sang  at  him ;  and  before  he  exactly 
realized  his  position  he  had  become  an  Auld 
Licht  for  life.  Chirsty's  triumph  was  complete 
when,  next  week,  in  broad  daylight,  too,  the 
minister's  wife  called,  and  (in  the  presence  of 
Betsy  Munn,  who  vouches  for  the  truth  of  the 
story)  graciously  asked  her  to  come  up  to  the 
manse  on  Thursday,  at  4  p.m.,  and  drink  a  dish  of 
tea.  Chirsty,  who  knew  her  position,  of  course 
begged  modestly  to  be  excused ;  but  a  coolness 
arose  over  the  invitation  between  her  and  Janet — 
who  felt  slighted — that  was  only  made  up  at  the 
laying-out  of  Chirsty's  father-in-law,  to  which 
Janet  was  pleasantly  invited. 


A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS.  8 1 

When  they  had  redd  up  the  house,  the  Auld 
Licht  lassies  sat  in  the  gloaming  at  their  doors  on 
three-legged  stools,  patiently  knitting  stockings. 
To  them  came  stiff-limbed  youths  who,  with  a 
*'Blawy  nicht,  Jeanie"  (to  which  the  inevitable 
answer  was,  "It  is  so,  Cha-rles  "),  rested  their 
shoulders  on  the  doorpost,  and  silently  followed 
with  their  eyes  the  flashing  needles.  Thus  the 
courtship  began — often  to  ripen  promptly  into 
marriage,  at  other  times  to  go  no  farther.  The 
smooth-haired  maids,  neat  in  their  simple  wrap- 
pers, knew  they  were  on  their  trial,  and  that  it  be- 
hoved them  to  be  wary.  They  had  not  com- 
passed twenty  winters  without  knowing  that 
Marget  Todd  lost  Davie  Haggart  because  she 
''fittit"  a  black  stocking  with  brown  worsted, 
and  that  Finny's  grieve  turned  from  Bell  Whamond 
on  account  of  the  frivolous  flowers  in  her  bonnet : 
and  yet  Bell's  prospects,  as  I  happen  to  know,  at 
one  time  looked  bright  and  promising.  Sitting 
over  her  father's  peat-fire  one  night  gossiping 
with  him  about  fishing-flies  and  tackle,  I  noticed 
the  grieve,  who  had  dropped  in  by  appointment 
with  some  ducks'  eggs  on  which  Bell's  clockin' 
hen  was  to  sit,  performing  some  sleight-of-hand 
trick  with  his  coat-sleeve.  Craftily  he  jerked  and 
twisted  it,  till  his  own  photograph  (a  black 
smudge  on  white)  gradually  appeared  to  view. 
This  he  gravely  slipped  into  the  hands  of  the 
maid  of  his  choice,  and  then  took  his  departure, 
6 


82  A  ULD  LIGHT  ID YLS. 

apparently  much  relieved.  Had  not  Bell's  light- 
headedness driven  him  away,  the  grieve  would 
have  soon  followed  up  his  gift  with  an  offer  of 
his  hand.  Some  night  Bell  would  have  '*seen 
him  to  the  door,"  and  they  would  have  stared 
sheepishly  at  each  other  before  saying  good-night. 
The  parting  salutation  given,  the  grieve  would 
still  have  stood  his  ground,  and  Bell  would  have 
waited  with  him.  At  last,  **  Will  ye  hae's,  Bell  ? " 
would  have  dropped  from  his  half-reluctant  lips  ; 
and  Bell  would  have  mumbled,  "Ay,"  with  her 
thumb  in  her  mouth.  *'Guid  nicht  to  ye.  Bell,'* 
would  be  the  next  remark — "Guid  nicht  to  ye, 
Jeames,"  the  answer;  the  humble  door  would 
close  softly,  and  Bell  and  her  lad  would  have 
been  engaged.  But,  as  it  was,  their  attachment 
never  got  beyond  the  silhouette  stage,  from 
which,  in  the  ethics  of  the  Auld  Lichts,  a  man  can 
draw  back  in  certain  circumstances  without  loss 
of  honor.  The  only  really  tender  thing  I  ever 
heard  an  Auld  Licht  lover  say  to  his  sweetheart 
was  when  Cowrie's  brother  looked  softly  into 
Easie  Tamson's  eyes  and  whispered^  **Do  you 
swite  (sweat) } "  Even  then  the  effect  was 
produced  more  by  the  loving  cast  in  Cowrie's 
eye  than  by  the  tenderness  of  the  words  them- 
selves. 

The  courtships  were  sometimes  of  long  dura- 
tion, but  as  soon  as  the  young  man  realized  that 
he  was  courting  he  proposed.     Cases  were  not 


A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS.  83 

Wanting  in  which  he  realized  this  for  himself,  but 
as  a  rule  he  had  to  be  told  of  it. 

There  were  a  few  instances  of  weddings  among 
the  Auld  Lichts  that  did  not  take  place  on  Friday. 
Betsy  Munn's  brother  thought  to  assert  his  two 
coal-carts,  about  which  he  was  sinfully  puffed  up, 
by  getting  married  early  in  the  week  ;  but  he 
was  a  pragmatical,  feckless  body,  Jamie.  The 
foreigner  from  York  that  Finny's  grieve  after 
disappointing  Jinny  Whamond  took,  sought  to 
sow  the  seeds  of  strife  by  urging  that  Friday  was 
an  unlucky  day  ;  and  I  remember  how  the  minis- 
ter, who  was  always  great  in  a  crisis,  nipped  the 
bickering  in  the  bud  by  adducing  the  conclusive 
fact  that  he  had  been  married  on  the  sixth  day  of 
the  week  himself  It  was  a  judicious  policy  on 
Mr.  Dishart's  part  to  take  vigorous  action  at  once 
and  insist  on  the  solemnization  of  the  marriage 
on  a  Friday  or  not  at  all,  for  he  best  kept  super- 
stition out  of  the  congregation  by  branding  it  as 
heresy.  Perhaps  the  Auld  Lichts  were  only  igno- 
rant of  the  grieve's  lass'  theory  because  they  had 
not  thought  of  it.  Friday's  claims,  too,  were  in- 
controvertible ;  for  the  Saturday's  being  a  slack 
day  gave  the  couple  an  opportunity  to  put  their 
but  and  ben  in  order,  and  on  Sabbath  they  had  a 
gay  day  of  it — three  times  at  the  kirk.  The  honey- 
moon over,  the  racket  of  the  loom  began  again 
on  the  Monday. 

The  natural  politeness  of  the  Allardice  family 


§4  AVLD  Lie HT  IDYLS, 

gave  me  my  invitation  to  Tibbie's  wedding-.  I 
was  taking  tea  and  cheese  early  one  wintry  after- 
noon with  the  smith  and  his  wife,  when  Httle  Joey 
Todd  in  his  Sabbath  clothes  peered  in  at  the  pas- 
sage, and  then  knocked  primly  at  the  door. 
Andra  forgot  himself,  and  called  out  to  him  to 
come  in  by  ;  but  Jess  frowned  him  into  silence, 
and,  hastily  donning  her  black  mutch,  received 
Willie  on  the  threshold.  Both  halves  of  the  door 
were  open,  and  the  visitor  had  looked  us  over 
carefully  before  knocking  ;  but  he  had  come  with 
the  compliments  of  Tibbie's  mother,  requesting 
the  pleasure  of  Jess  and  her  man  that  evening  to 
the  lassie's  marriage  with  Sam'l  Todd,  and  the 
knocking  at  the  door  was  part  of  the  ceremony. 
Five  minutes  afterward  Joey  returned  to  beg  a 
moment  of  me  in  the  passage  ;  when  I,  too,  got 
my  invitation.  The  lad  had  just  received,  with 
an  expression  of  polite  surprise,  though  he  knew 
he  could  claim  it  as  his  right,  a  slice  of  crumbling 
shortbread,  and  taken  his  staid  departure,  when 
Jess  cleared  the  tea-things  off  the  table,  remarking 
simply  that  it  was  a  mercy  we  had  not  got  beyond 
the  first  cup.     We  then  retired  to  dress. 

About  six  o'clock,  the  time  announced  for  the 
ceremony,  I  elbowed  my  way  through  the  ex- 
pectant throng  of  men,  women,  and  children  that 
already  besieged  the  smith's  door.  Shrill  demands 
of  ''Toss,  toss!"  rent  the  air  every  time  Jess' 
head  showed  on  the  window-blind,    and  Andra 


[A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS.  85 

hoped,  as  I  pushed  open  the  door,  "  that  I  hadna 
forgotten  my  bawbees.'*  Weddings  were  cele- 
brated among  the  Auld  Lichts  by  showers  of 
ha'pence,  and  the  guests  on  their  way  to  the 
bride's  house  had  to  scatter  to  the  hungry  rabble 
like  housewives  feeding  poultry.  Willie  Todd, 
the  best  man,  who  had  never  come  out  so  strong 
in  his  life  before,  slipped  through  the  back 
window,  while  the  crowd,  led  on  by  Kitty 
McQueen,  seethed  in  front,  and  making  a  bolt  for 
it  to  the  *"Sosh,"  was  back  in  a  moment  with  a 
handful  of  small  change.  "Dinna  toss  ower 
lavishly  at  first,"  the  smith  whispered  me  ner- 
vously, as  we  followed  Jess  and  Willie  into  the 
darkening  wynd. 

The  guests  were  packed  hot  and  solemn  in 
Johnny  Allardice's  "  room  :  "  the  men  anxious  to 
surrender  their  seats  to  the  ladies  who  happened 
to  be  standing,  but  too  bashful  to  propose  it  ; 
the  ham  and  the  fish  frizzling  noisily  side  by  side 
but  the  house,  and  hissing  out  every  now  and 
then  to  let  all  whom  it  might  concern  know  that 
Janet  Craik  was  adding  more  water  to  the  gravy. 
A  better  woman  never  lived  ;  but,  oh,  the  hypo- 
crisy of  the  face  that  beamed  greeting  to  the 
guests  as  if  it  had  nothing  to  do  but  politely  show 
them  in,  and  gasped  next  moment  with  upraised 
arms  over  what  was  nearly  a  fall  in  crockery. 
When  Janet  sped  to  the  door  her  ''spleet  new  " 
merino  dress  fell,  to  the  pulling  of  a  string,  over 


86  A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS. 

her  home-made  petticoat,  like  the  drop  scene  in 
a  theatre,  and  rose  as  promptly  when  she  returned 
to  slice  the  bacon.  The  murmur  of  admiration 
that  filled  the  room  when  she  entered  with  the 
minister  w^as  an  involuntary  tribute  to  the 
spotlessness  of  her  wrapper  and  a  great  triumph 
for  Janet.  If  there  is  an  impression  that  the 
dress  of  the  Auld  Lichts  was  on  all  occasions 
as  sombre  as  their  faces,  let  it  be  known 
that  the  bride  was  but  one  of  several  in  "whites," 
and  that  Mag  Munn  had  only  at  the  last  moment 
been  dissuaded  from  wearing  flowers.  The  min- 
ister, the  Auld  Lichts  congratulated  themselves, 
disapproved  of  all  such  decking  of  the  person, 
and  bowing  of  the  head  to  idols  ;  but  on  such  an 
occasion  he  was  not  expected  to  observe  it.  Bell 
Whamond,  however,  has  reason  for  knowing 
that,  marriages  or  no  marriages,  he  drew  the  line 
at  curls. 

By-and-bye  Sam'l  Todd,  looking  a  little  dazed, 
was  pushed  into  the  middle  of  the  room  to  Tibbie's 
side,  and  the  minister  raised  his  voice  in  prayer. 
All  eyes  closed  reverently,  except  perhaps  the 
bridegroom's,  which  seemed  glazed  and  vacant. 
It  was  an  open  question  in  the  community 
whether  Mr.  Dishart  did  not  miss  his  chance  at 
weddings  ;  the  men  shaking  their  heads  over  the 
comparative  brevity  of  the  ceremony,  the  women 
worshipping  him  (though  he  never  hesitated  to 
rebuke  them  when  they  showed  it  too  openly)  for 


A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS.  87 

the  urbanity  of  his  manners.     At  that  time,  how- 
ever, only  a  minister  of  such  experience   as  Mr. 
Dishart's  predecessor  could  lead  up    to   a   mar- 
riage in  prayer  without  inadvertently  joining  the 
couple  ;  and  the  catechizing  was  mercifully  brief 
Another  prayer  followed -the  union  ;  the  minister 
waived  his   right  to   kiss  the  bride  ;  every   one 
looked  at  every  other  one  as  if  he  had  for  the 
moment  forgotten  what  he  was  on  the  point  of 
saying  and  found  it  very  annoying  ;  and  Janet 
signed  frantically  to  Willie  Todd,    who  nodded 
intelligently  in  reply,  but  evidently  had  no  idea 
what  she  meant.     In  time  Johnny  Allardice,  our 
host,    who   became   more   and   more   doited    as 
the  night  proceeded,  remembered  his  instructions, 
and  led  the  way  to  the  kitchen,  where  the  guests, 
having  politely  informed  their  hostess  that  they 
were  not  hungry,  partook  of  a  hearty  tea.     Mr. 
Dishart  presided,  with  the  bride  and  bridegroom 
near  him  ;  but  though  he  tried  to  give   an  agree- 
able turn  to  the  conversation  by  describing  the 
extensions  at  the  cemetery,    his  personality  op- 
pressed us,  and  we  only  breathed  freely  when  he 
rose  to  go.     Yet  we  marvelled  at  his  versatility. 
In  shaking  hands  with  the  newly-married  couple 
the  minister  reminded  them  that  it  was  leap-year, 
and  wished  them  **  three  hundred  and  sixty-six 
happy  and  God-fearing  days." 

Sam'l's  station  being  too  high  for  it,  Tibbie  did 
not   have   a  penny  wedding,   which   her  thrifty 


88  A  VLD  LICHT  ID  YLS. 

mother  bewailed,  penny  weddings  starting  a 
couple  in  life.  I  can  recall  nothing  more  char- 
acteristic of  the  nation  from  which  the  Auld  Lichts 
sprang  than  the  penny  wedding,  where  the  only 
revellers  that  were  not  out  of  pocket  by  it  were 
the  couple  who  gave  the  entertainment.  The 
more  the  guests  ate  and  drank  the  better,  pecuni- 
arily, for  their  hosts.  The  charge  for  admission 
to  the  penny  wedding  (practically  to  the  feast  that 
followed  it)  varied  in  different  districts,  but  with 
us  it  was  generally  a  shilling.  Perhaps  the  penny 
extra  to  the  fiddler  accounts  for  the  name  penny 
wedding.  The  ceremony  having  been  gone 
through  in  the  bride's  house,  there  was  an  ad- 
journment to  a  barn  or  other  convenient  place 
of  meeting,  where  was  held  the  nuptial  feast ; 
long  white  boards  from  Rob  Angus'  saw-mill, 
supported  on  trestles,  stood  in  lieu  of  tables  ;  and 
those  of  the  company  who  could  not  find  a  seat 
waited  patiently  against  the  wall  for  a  vacancy. 
The  shilling  gave  every  guest  the  free  run  of  the 
groaning  board  ;  but  though  fowls  were  plentiful, 
and  even  white  bread  too,  little  had  been  spent 
on  them.  The  farmers  of  the  neighborhood,  who 
looked  forward  to  providing  the  young  people  with 
drills  of  potatoes  for  the  coming  winter,  made  a 
bid  for  their  custom  by  sending  them  a  fowl 
gratis  for  the  marriage  supper.  It  was  popularly 
understood  to  be  the  oldest  cock  of  the  farm-yard, 
but  for  all  that  it  made  a  brave  appearance  in  a 


A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS.  89 

shallow  sea  of  soup.  The  fowls  were  always 
boiled — without  exception,  so  far  as  my  memory 
carries  me  ;  the  guid-wife  never  having  the  heart 
to  roast  them,  and  so  lose  the  broth.  One  round 
of  whiskey  and  water  was  all  the  drink  to  which 
his  shilling  entitled  the  guest.  If  he  wanted 
more  he  had  to  pay  for  it.  There  was  much 
revelry,  with  song  and  dance,  that  no  stranger 
could  have  thought  those  stiff-limbed  weavers 
capable  of;  and  the  more  they  shouted  and 
whirled  through  the  barn,  the  more  their  host 
smiled  and  rubbed  his  hands.  He  presided  at  the 
bar  improvised  for  the  occasion,  and  if  the  thing 
was  conducted  with  spirit  his  bride  flung  an 
apron  over  her  gown  and  helped  him.  I  remem- 
ber one  elderly  bridegroom  who,  having  married 
a  blind  woman,  had  to  do  double  work  at  his 
penny  wedding.  It  was  a  sight  to  see  him  flit- 
ting about  the  torch-lit  barn,  with  a  kettle  of  hot 
water  in  one  hand  and  a  besom  to  sweep  up 
crumbs  in  the  other. 

Though  Sam'l  had  no  penny  wedding,  however, 
we  made  a  night  of  it  at  his  marriage. 

Wedding-chariots  were  not  in  those  days,  though 
I  know  of  Auld  Lichts  being  conveyed  to  mar- 
riages nowadays  by  horses  with  white  ears.  The 
tea  over,  we  formed  in  couples,  and — the  best 
man  with  the  bride,  the  bridegroom  with  the  best 
maid,  leading  the  way — marched  in  slow  proces- 
sion in  the  moonlight  night  to  Tibbie's  new  home, 


90  A ULD  LIGHT  IDYLS. 

between  lines  of  hoarse  and  eager  onlookers. 
An  attempt  was  made  by  an  itinerant  musician 
to  head  the  company  with  his  fiddle  ;  but  instru- 
mental music,  even  in  the  streets,  was  abhorrent 
to  sound  Auld  Lichts,  and  the  minister  had  spoken 
privately  to  Willie  Todd  on  the  subject.  As  a  con- 
sequence, Peter  was  driven  from  the  ranks.  The 
last  thing  I  saw  that  night,  as  we  filed,  bare-head- 
ed and  solemn,  into  the  newly-married  couple's 
house,  was  Kitty  McQueen's  vigorous  arm,  in  a 
dishevelled  sleeve,  pounding  a  pair  of  urchins 
who  had  got  between  her  and  a  muddy  ha'penny. 
That  night  there  was  revelry  and  boisterous 
mirth  (or  what  the  Auld  Lichts  took  for  such) 
in  Tibbie's  kitchen.  At  eleven  o'clock  Davit 
Lunan  cracked  a  joke.  Davie  Haggart,  in 
reply  to  Bell  Dundas'  request,  gave  a  song  of 
distinctly  secular  tendencies.  The  bride  (who 
had  carefully  taken  off  her  wedding-gown  on 
getting  home  and  donned  a  wrapper)  coquet- 
tishly  let  the  bridegroom's  father  hold  her 
hand.  In  Auld  Licht  circles,  when  one  of  the 
company  was  offered  whiskey  and  refused  it,  the 
others,  as  if  pained  even  at  the  offer  pushed  it 
from  them  as  a  thing  abhorred.  But  Davie  Hag- 
gart set  another  example  on  this  occasion,  and 
no  one  had  the  courage  to  refuse  to  follow  it. 
We  sat  late  round  the  dying  fire,  and  it  was  only 
Willie  Todd's  scandalous  assertion  (he  was  but  a 
boy),  about  his  being  able  to  dance  that  induced 


A ULD  LIGHT  IDYLS.  91 

UG  to  think  of  moving.  In  the  community,  I 
understand,  this  marriage  is  still  memorable  as 
the  occasion  on  which  Bell  Whamond  laughed 
in  the  minister's  face. 


92  AULD  LIGHT  IDYLS, 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE    AULD   LIGHTS    IN    ARMS. 

Arms  and  men  I  sing:  douce  Jeemsy  Todd, 
rushing  from  his  loom,  armed  with  a  bed-post  ; 
Lisbeth  Whamond,  an  avenging  whirlwind; 
Neil  Haggart,  pausing  in  his  thank-offerings  to 
smite  and  slay  ;  the  impious  foe  scudding  up  the 
bleeding  Brae-head  with  Nemesis  at  their  flash- 
ing heels  ;  the  minister  holding  it  a  nice  question 
whether  the  carnage  was  not  justified.  Then 
came  the  two  hours'  sermons  of  the  following 
Sabbath,  when  Mr.  Dishart,  revolving  like  a  tee- 
totum in  the  pulpit,  damned  every  bandaged  per- 
son present,  individually  and  collectively  ;  and 
Lang  Tammas,  in  the  precentor's  box  with  a 
plaster  on  his  cheek,  included  any  one  the  minis- 
ter might  have  by  chance  omitted,  and  the  con- 
gregation, with  most  of  their  eyes  bunged  up, 
burst  into  psalms  of  praise. 

Twice  a  year  the  Auld  Lichts  went  demented. 
The  occasion  was  the  fast-day  at  Tilliedrum, 
when  its  inhabitants,  instead  of  crowding  rever- 
ently to  the  kirk,  swooped  profanely  down  in 
their  scores  and  tens  of  scores  on  our  God-fearing 


A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS.  93 

town,  intent  on  making  a  day  of  it.  Then  did 
the  weavers  rise  as  one  man,  and  go  forth  to 
show  the  ribald  crew  the  errors  of  their  way. 
All  denominations  were  represented,  but  Auld 
Lichts  led.  An  Auld  Licht  would  have  taken  no 
man's  blood  without  the  conviction  that  he  would 
be  the  better  morally  for  the  bleeding  ;  and  if 
Tammas  Lunan's  case  gave  an  impetus  to  the 
blows,  it  can  only  have  been  because  it  opened 
wider  Auld  Lichts,  eyes  to  Tilliedrum's  desperate 
condition.  Mr.  Dishart's  predecessor  more  than 
once  remarked  that  at  the  Creation  the  devil  put 
forward  a  claim  for  Thrums,  but  said  he  would 
take  his  chance  of  Tilliedrum  ;  and  the  statement 
was  generally  understood  to  be  made  on  the 
authority  of  the  original  Hebrew. 

The  mustard-seed  of  a  feud  between  the  two 
parishes,  shot  into  a  tall  tree  in  a  single  night, 
when  Davit  Lunan's  father  went  to  a  tattie  roup 
at  Tilliedrum  and  thoughtlessly  died  there. 
Twenty-four  hours  afterward  a  small  party  of 
staid  Auld  Lichts,  carrying  long  white  poles, 
stepped  out  of  various  wynds  and  closes  and 
picked  their  solemn  way  to  the  house  of  mourn- 
ing. Nanny  Low,  the  widow,  received  them  de- 
jectedly, as  one  oppressed  by  the  knowledge 
that  her  man's  death  at  such  an  inopportune 
place,  did  not  fulfil  the  promise  of  his  youth  ; 
and  her  guests  admitted  bluntly  that  they  were 
disappointed    in    Tammas.       Snecky    Hobart's 


94  A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS. 

fathers  unusually  long  and  impressive  prayer 
was  an  official  intimation  that  the  deceased,  in 
the  opinion  of  the  session,  sorely  needed  every- 
thing of  the  kind  he  could  get ;  and  then  the 
silent  driblet  of  Auld  Lichts  in  black  stalked  off 
in  the  direction  of  Tilliedrum.  Women  left  their 
spinning-wheels  and  pirns  to  follow  them  with 
their  eyes  along  the  Tenements,  and  the  minister 
was  known  to  be  holding  an  extra  service  at  the 
manse.  When  the  little  procession  reached  the 
boundary-line  between  the  two  parishes,  they  sat 
down  on  a  dyke  and  waited. 

By-and-bye  half  a  dozen  men  drew  near  from 
the  opposite  direction,  bearing  on  poles  the  re- 
mains of  Tammas  Lunan  in  a  closed  coffin. 
The  coffin  was  brought  to  within  thirty  yards  of 
those  who  awaited  it,  and  then  roughly  lowered 
to  the  ground.  Its  bearers  rested  morosely  on 
their  poles.  In  conveying  Lunan  s  remains  to 
the  borders  of  his  own  parish,  they  were  only 
conforming  to  custom  ;  but  Thrums  and  Tillie- 
drum differed  as  to  where  the  boundary-line  was 
drawn,  and  not  a  foot  would  either  advance  into 
the  other's  territory. 

For  half  a  day  the  coffin  lay  unclaimed,  and 
the  two  parties  sat  scowling  at  each  other. 
Neither  dared  move.  Gloaming  had  stolen  into 
the  valley  when  Dite  Deuchars,  of  Tilliedrum, 
rose  to  his  feet  and  deliberately  spat  upon  the 
goffin.     A   stone  whizzed  through  the  air  ;  and. 


A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS.  95 

then  the  ugly  spectacle  was  presented,  in  the 
gray  night,  of  a  dozen  mutes  fighting  with  their 
poles  over  a  coffin.  There  was  blood  on  the 
shoulders  that  bore  Tammas'  remains  to  Thrums. 
After  that  meeting  Tilliedrum  lived  for  the  fast- 
day.  Never,  perhaps,  was  there  a  community 
more  given  up  to  sin,  and  Thrums  felt  ''called" 
to  its  chastisement.  The  insult  to  Lunan's  cof- 
fin, however,  dispirited  their  weavers  for  a  time, 
and  not  until  the  suicide  of  Pitlums  did  they  put 
much  fervor  into  their  prayers.  It  made  new 
men  of  them.  Tilliedrum's  sins  had  found  it  out. 
Pitlums  was  a  farmer  in  the  parish  of  Thrums, 
but  he  had  been  born  at  Tilliedrum  ;  and  Thrums 
thanked  Providence  for  that,  when  it  saw  him 
suspended  between  two  hams  from  his  kitchen 
rafters.  The  custom  was  to  cart  suicides  to  the 
quarry  at  the  Galla  pond,  and  bury  them  near 
the  cairn  that  had  supported  the  gallows  ;  but  on 
this  occasion  not  a  farmer  in  the  parish  would 
lend  a  cart,  and  for  a  week  the  corpse  lay  on  the 
sanded  floor  as  it  had  been  cut  down — an  object 
of  awe-struck  interest  to  boys  who  knew  no  bet- 
ter than  to  peep  through  the  darkened  window. 
Tilliedrum  bit  its  lips  at  home.  The  Auld  Licht 
minister,  it  was  said,  had  been  approached  on 
the  subject ;  but,  after  serious  consideration,  did 
not  see  his  way  to  offering  up  a  prayer.  Finally 
old  Hobart  and  two  others  tied  a  rope  round  the 
body,   and  dragged    it    from    the    farm    to    the 


96  A ULD  LIGHT  IDYLS. 

cairn,  a  distance  of  four  miles.  Instead  of  this 
incident's  humbling  Tilliedrum  into  attending 
church,  the  next  fast-day  saw  its  streets  deserted. 
As  for  the  Thrums  Auld  Lichts,  only  heavy  wobs 
prevented  their  walking  erect  like  men  who  had 
done  their  duty.  If  no  prayer  was  volunteered 
for  Pitlums  before  his  burial,  there  was  a  great 
deal  of  psalm-singing  after  it. 

By  early  morn  on  their  fast-day  the  Tilliedrum- 
mers  were  straggling  into  Thrums,  and  the  weav- 
ers, already  at  their  looms,  read  the  clattering  of 
feet  and  carts  aright.  To  convince  themselves, 
all  they  had  to  do  was  to  raise  their  eyes  ;  but  the 
first  triumph  would  have  been  to  TilHedrum  if 
they  had  done  that.  The  invaders — the  men  in 
Aberdeen  blue  serge  coats,  velvet  knee-breeches, 
and  broad  blue  bonnets,  and  the  wincey  gowns 
of  the  women  set  off  with  hooded  cloaks  of  red 
or  tartan  tapped  at  the  windows  and  shouted  in- 
sultingly as  they  passed  ;  but,  with  pursed  lips, 
Thrums  bent  fiercely  over  its  wobs,  and  not  an 
Auld  Licht  showed  outside  his  door.  The  day 
wore  on  till  noon,  and  still  ribaldry  was  master 
of  the  wynds.  But  there  was  a  change  inside  the 
houses.  The  minister  had  pulled  down  his 
blinds  ;  moody  men  had  left  their  looms  for  stools 
by  the  fire  ;  there  were  rumors  of  a  conflict  in 
Andra  Cowrie's  close,  from  which  Kitty  McQueen 
had  emerged  with  her  short  gown  in  rags ;  and  Lang 
Tammas   was  going  from    door  to  door.     The 


A  Uld  licht  Id  vls.  97 

austere  precentor  admonished  fiery  youth  to  be- 
ware of  giving  way  to  passion  ;  and  it  was  a 
proud  day  for  the  Auld  Lichts  to  find  their  leading 
elder  so  conversant  with  apt  Scripture  texts. 
They  bowed  their  heads  reverently  while  he  thun- 
dered forth  that  those  who  lived  by  the  sword  would 
perish  by  the  sword  ;  and  when  he  had  finished 
they  took  him  ben  to  inspect  their  bludgeons.  I 
have  a  vivid  recollection  of  going  the  round  of 
the  Auld  Licht  and  other  houses  to  see  the  sticks 
and  the  wrists  in  coils  of  wire. 

A  stranger  in  the  Tenements  in  the  afternoon 
would  have  noted  more  than  one  draggled  youth 
in  holiday  attire,  sitting  on  a  doorstep  with  a  wet 
cloth  to  his  nose  ;  and,  passing  down  the  com- 
monty,  he  would  have  had  to  step  over  prostrate 
lumps  of  humanity  from  which  all  shape  had 
departed.  Gavin  Ogilvy  limped  heavily  after  his 
encounter  with  Thrummy  Tosh — a  struggle  that 
was  looked  forward  to  eagerly  as  a  bi-yearly 
event ;  Christy  Davie's  development  of  muscle 
had  not  prevented  her  going  down  before  the  ter- 
rible onslaught  of  Joe  the  miller,  and  Lang 
Tammas'  plasters  told  a  tale.  It  was  in  the  square 
that  the  two  parties,  leading  their  maimed  and 
blind,  formed  in  force  ;  Tilliedrum  thirsting  for  its 
opponent's  blood,  and  Thrums  humbly  accepting 
the  responsibility  of  punching  the  fast-day  break- 
ers into  the  ways  of  rectitude.  In  the  small,  ill- 
kept  square  the  invaders,  to  the  number  of  about 
7 


98  A ULD  LIGHT  IDYLS. 

a  hundred,  were  wedged  together  at  its  upper  end, 
while  the  Thrums  people  formed  in  a  thick  line  at 
the  foot.  For  its  inhabitants  the  way  to  Tilliedrum 
lay  through  this  threatening  mass  of  armed  weav- 
ers. No  words  were  bandied  between  the  two 
forces ;  the  centre  of  the  square  was  left  open, 
and  nearly  every  eye  was  fixed  on  the  town-house 
clock.  It  directed  operations  and  gave  the  signal 
to  charge.  The  moment  six  o'clock  struck,  the 
upper  mass  broke  its  bonds  and  flung  itself  on  the 
living  barricade.  There  was  a  clatter  of  heads 
and  sticks,  a  yelling  and  a  groaning,  and  then  the 
invaders,  bursting  through  the  opposing  ranks, 
fled  for  TiUiedrum.  Down  the  Tanage  brae  and 
up  the  Brae-head  they  skurried,  half  a  hundred 
avenging  spirits  in  pursuit.  On  the  Tilliedrum 
fast-day  I  have  tasted  blood  myself.  In  the  god- 
less place  there  is  no  Auld  Licht  kirk,  but  there 
are  two  Auld  Lichts  in  it  now  who  walk  to  Thrums 
to  church  every  Sabbath,  blow  or  rain  as  it  lists. 
They  are  making  their  influence  felt  in  TiUie- 
drum. 

The  Auld  Lichts  also  did  valorous  deeds  at  the 
Battle  of  Cabbylatch.  The  farm  land  so  named 
lies  a  mile  or  more  to  the  south  of  Thrums.  You 
have  to  go  over  the  rim  of  the  cut  to  reach  it.  It 
is  low-lying  and  uninteresting  to  the  eye,  except 
for  some  giant  stones  scattered  cold  and  naked 
through  the  fields.  No  human  hands  reared  these 
bowlders,   but  they   might   be   looked   upon    as 


AULD  LIGHT  IDYLS. 


99 


tombstones  to  the  heroes  who  fell  (to  rise  hur- 
riedly) on  the  plain  of  Cabbylatch. 

The  fight  of  Cabbylatch  belongs  to  the  days  of 
what  are  now  but  dimly  remembered  as  the  Meal 
Mobs.  Then  there  was  a  wild  cry  all  over  the 
country  for  bread  (not  the  fine  loaves  that  we 
know,  but  something  very  much  coarser),  and 
hungry  men  and  women,  prematurely  shrunken, 
began  to  forget  the  taste  of  meal.  Potatoes  were 
their  chief  sustenance,  and,  when  the  crop  failed, 
starvation  gripped  them.  At  that  time  the 
farmers,  having  control  of  the  meal,  had  the 
small  towns  at  their  mercy,  and  they  increased 
its  cost.  The  price  of  the  meal  went  up  and  up, 
until  the  famishing  people  swarmed  up  the  sides 
of  the  carts  in  which  it  was  conveyed  to  the 
towns,  and,  tearing  open  the  sacks,  devoured  it 
in  handfuls.  In  Thrums  they  had  a  stern  sense 
of  justice,  and  for  a  time,  after  taking  possession 
of  the  meal,  they  carried  it  to  the  square  and  sold 
it  at  what  they  considered  a  reasonable  price. 
The  money  was  handed  over  to  the  farmers.  The 
honesty  of  this  is  worth  thinking  about,  but  it 
seems  to  have  only  incensed  the  farmers  the  more  ; 
and  when  they  saw  that  to  send  their  meal  to  the 
town  was  not  to  get  high  prices  for  it,  they  laid 
their  heads  together  and  then  gave  notice  that 
the  people  who  wanted  meal  and  were  able  to 
pay  for  it  must  come  to  the  farms.  In  Thrums 
no  one  who  cared  to  live  on  porridge  and  ban- 


1 00  A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS. 

nocks  had  money  to  satisfy  the  farmers  ;  but, 
on  the  other  hand,  none  of  them  grudged  going 
for  it,  and  go  they  did.  They  went  in  numbers 
from  farm  to  farm,  Hke  bands  of  hungry  rats,  and 
throttled  the  opposition  they  not  infrequently  en- 
countered. The  raging  farmers  at  last  met  in 
council,  and,  noting  that  they  were  lusty  men 
and  brave,  resolved  to  march  in  armed  force  upon 
the  erring  people  and  burn  their  town.  Now  we 
come  to  the  Battle  of  Cabbylatch. 

The  farmers  were  not  less  than  eighty  strong, 
and  chiefly  consisted  of  cavalry.  Armed  with 
pitchforks  and  cumbrous  scythes  where  they  were 
not  able  to  lay  their  hands  on  the  more  orthodox 
weapons  of  war,  they  presented  a  determined  ap- 
pearance ;  the  few  foot  soldiers  who  had  no  cart 
horses  at  their  disposal  bearing  in  their  arms 
bundles  of  firewood.  One  memorable  morning 
they  set  out  to  avenge  their  losses  ;  and  by  and 
by  a  halt  was  called,  when  each  man  bowed  his 
head  to  listen.  In  Thrums,  pipe  and  drum  were 
calling  the  inhabitants  to  arms.  Scouts  rushed 
in  with  the  news  that  the  farmers  were  advanc- 
ing rapidly  upon  the  town,  and  soon  the  streets 
were  clattering  with  feet.  At  that  time  Thrums 
had  its  piper  and  drummer  (the  bellman  of  a  later 
and  more  degenerate  age) ;  and  on  this  occasion 
they  marched  together  through  the  narrow 
wynds,  firing  the  blood  of  haggard  men  and  sum- 
moning them  to  the  square.     According  to  my 


A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS.  i  o  i 

informant's  father,  the  gathering  of  these  angry 
and  startled  weavers,  when  he  thrust  his  blue 
bonnet  on  his  head  and  rushed  out  to  join  them, 
was  an  impressive  and  solemn  spectacle.  That 
bloodshed  was  meant  there  can  be  no  doubt ;  for 
starving  men  do  not  see  the  ludicrous  side  of 
things.  The  difference  between  the  farmers  and 
the  town  had  resolved  itself  into  an  ugly  and 
sullen  hate,  and  the  wealthier  townsmen  who 
would  have  come  between  the  people  and  the 
bread  were  fiercely  pushed  aside.  There  was  no 
nominal  leader,  but  every  man  in  the  ranks 
meant  to  fight  for  himself  and  his  belongings  ; 
and  they  are  said  to  have  sallied  out  to  meet  the 
foe  in  no  disorder.  The  women  they  would  fain 
have  left  behind  them  ;  but  these  had  their  own 
injuries  to  redress,  and  they  followed  in  their  hus- 
bands' wake,  carrying  bags  of  stones.  The  men, 
who  were  of  various  denominations,  were  armed 
with  sticks,  blunderbusses,  anything  they  could 
snatch  up  at  a  moment's  notice  ;  and  some  of 
them  were  not  unacquainted  with  fighting.  Dire 
silence  prevailed  among  the  men,  but  the  women 
shouted  as  they  ran,  and  the  curious  army  moved 
forward  to  the  drone  and  squall  of  drum  and 
pipe.  The  enemy  was  sighted  on  the  level  land 
of  Cabbylatch  ;  and  here,  while  the  intending 
combatants  glared  at  each  other,  a  well-known 
local  magnate  galloped  his  horse  between  them 
and  ordered  them  in  the  name  of  the  king  to  re- 


1 02  A  tJLD  LIGHT  ID  VLS. 

turn  to  their  homes.  But  for  the  farmers  that 
meant  further  depredation  at  the  people's  hands, 
and  the  townsmen  would  not  go  back  to  their 
gloomy  homes  to  sit  down  and  wait  for  sunshine. 
Soon  stones  (the  first,  it  is  said,  cast  by  a 
woman),  darkened  the  air.  The  farmers  got  the 
word  to  charge,  but  their  horses,  with  the  best 
intentions,  did  not  know  the  way.  There  was  a 
stampeding  in  different  directions,  a  blind  rush- 
ing of  one  frightened  steed  against  another ;  and 
then  the  townspeople,  breaking  any  ranks  they 
had  hitherto  managed  to  keep,  rushed  vindictive- 
ly forward.  The  struggle  at  Cabbylatch  itself 
was  not  of  long  duration  ;  for  their  own  horses 
proved  the  farmer's  worst  enemies,  except  in  the 
cases  where  the  sagacious  animals  took  matters 
into  their  own  ordering  and  bolted  judiciously 
for  their  stables.     The  day  was  to  Thrums. 

Individual  deeds  of  prowess  were  done  that 
day.  Of  these  not  the  least  fondly  remembered 
by  her  descendants  were  those  of  the  gallant 
matron  who  pursued  the  most  obnoxious  farmer 
in  the  district  even  to  his  very  porch  with  heavy 
stones  and  opprobrious  epithets.  Once  when  he 
thought  he  had  left  her  far  behind  did  he  alight 
to  draw  breath  and  take  a  pinch  of  snuff,  and  she 
was  upon  him  like  a  flail.  With  a  terror-stricken 
cry  he  leaped  once  more  upon  his  horse  and  fled, 
but  not  without  leaving  his  snuff-box  in  the  hands 
of  the   derisive  enemy.     Meggy  has  long   gone 


A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS.  1 05 

to  the  kirk-yard,  but  the  snuff-mull  is  still  pre- 
served. 

Some  ugly  cuts  were  given  and  received,  and 
heads  as  well  as  ribs  were  broken ;  but  the 
townsmen's  triumph  was  short-lived.  The  ring- 
leaders were  whipped  through  the  streets  of 
Perth,  as  a  warning  to  persons  thinking  of  taking 
the  law  into  their  own  hands  ;  and  all  the  lasting 
consolation  they  got  was  that,  some  time  after- 
ward, the  chief  witness  against  them,  the  parish 
minister,  met  with  a  mysterious  death.  They 
said  it  was  evidently  the  hand  of  God  ;  but  some 
people  looked  suspiciously  at  them  when  they 
said  it 


i04  A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS, 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE    OLD    DOMINIE. 

From  the  new  cemetery,  which  is  the  highest 
point  in  Thrums,  you  just  fail  to  catch  sight  of 
the  red  school-house  that  nestles  between  two 
bare  trees,  some  five  miles  up  the  glen  of  Quhar- 
ity.  This  was  proved  by  Davit  Lunan,  tinsmith, 
whom  I  have  heard  tell  the  story.  It  was  in  the 
time  when  the  cemetery  gates  were  locked  to  keep 
the  bodies  of  suicides  out,  but  men  who  cared  to 
risk  the  consequences  could  get  the  coffin  over  the 
high  dyke  and  bury  it  themselves.  Peter  Lundy's 
coffin  broke,  as  one  might  say,  into  the  church- 
yard in  this  way,  Peter  having  hanged  himself  in 
the  Whunny  wood  when  he  saw  that  work  he 
must.  The  general  feeling  among  the  intimates 
of  the  deceased  was  expressed  by  Davit  when  he 
said  : 

''It  may  do  the  crittur  nae  guid  i'  the  tail  o' 
the  day,  but  he  paid  for's  bit  o'  ground,  an'  he's 
in's  richt  to  occupy  it. " 

The  custom  was  to  push  the  coffin  on  to  the 
wall  up  a  plank,  and  then  let  it  drop  less  carefully 
into  the  cemetery.     Some  of  the  mourners  were 


A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS.  1 05 

dragging  the  plank  over  the  wall,  with  Davit 
Lunan  on  the  top  directing  them,  when  they 
seem  to  have  let  go  and  sent  the  tinsmith  sud- 
denly into  the  air.  A  week  afterward  it  struck 
Davit,  when  in  the  act  of  soldering  a  hole  in 
Leeby  Wheens'  flagon  (here  he  branched  off  to 
explain  that  he  had  made  the  flagon  years  before, 
and  that  Leeby  was  sister  to  Tammas  Wheens, 
and  married  one  Baker  Robbie,  who  died  of 
chicken-pox  in  his  forty-fourth  year),  that  when 
"up  there"  he  had  a  view  of  Quharity  school- 
house.  Davit  was  as  truthful  as  a  man  who  tells 
the  same  story  more  than  once  can  be  expected 
to  be,  and  it  is  far  from  a  suspicious  circumstance 
that  he  did  not  remember  seeing  the  school-house 
all  at  once.  In  Thrums  things  only  struck  them 
gradually.  The  new  cemetery,  for  instance,  was 
only  so  called  because-  it  had  been  new  once. 

In  this  red  stone  school,  full  of  the  modern 
improvements  that  he  detested,  the  old  dominie 
whom  I  succeeded  taught,  and  sometimes  slept, 
during  the  last  five  years  of  his  cantankerous  life. 
It  was  in  a  little  thatched  school,  consisting  of 
but  one  room,  that  he  did  his  best  work,  some 
five  hundred  yards  away  from  the  edifice  that  was 
reared  in  its  stead.  Now  dismally  fallen  into 
disrepute,  often  indeed  a  domicile  for  cattle,  the 
ragged  academy  of  Glen  Quharity,  where  he  held 
despotic  sway  for  nearly  half  a  century,  is  falling 
to  pieces  slowly  in  a  howe  that  conceals  it  from 


I  o6  A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS. 

the  high-road.  Even  in  its  best  scholastic  days, 
when  it  sent  barefooted  lads  to  college  who 
helped  to  hasten  the  Disruption,  it  was  but  a  pile 
of  ungainly  stones,  such  as  Scott's  Black  Dwarf 
flung  together  in  a  night,  with  holes  in  its  broken 
roof  of  thatch  where  the  rain  trickled  through,  and 
never  with  less  than  two  of  its  knotted  little  window- 
panes  stopped  with  brown  paper.  The  twelve  or 
twenty  pupils  of  both  sexes  who  constituted  the 
attendance  sat  at  the  two  loose  desks,  which 
never  fell  unless  you  leaned  on  them,  with  an  eye 
on  the  corner  of  the  earthen  floor  where  the 
worms  came  out,  and  on  cold  days  they  liked  the 
wind  to  turn  the  peat  smoke  into  the  room.  One 
boy,  who  was  supposed  to  wash  it  out,  got  his 
education  free  for  keeping  the  school-house  dirty, 
and  the  others  paid  their  way  with  peats,  which 
they  brought  in  their  hands,  just  as  wealthier 
school-children  carry  books,  and  with  pence  which 
the  dominie  collected  regularly  every  Monday 
morning.  The  attendance  on  Monday  mornings 
was  often  small. 

Once  a  year  the  dominie  added  to  his  income 
by  holding  cockfights  in  the  old  school.  This  was 
at  Yule,  and  the  same  practice  held  in  the  parish 
school  of  Thrums.  It  must  have  been  a  strange 
sight.  Every  male  scholar  was  expected  to  bring 
a  cock  to  the  school,  and  to  pay  a  shilling  to  the 
dominie  for  the  privilege  of  seeing  it  killed  there. 
The  dominie  was  the  master  of  the  sports,  assisted 


A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS.  1 07 

by  the  neighboring  farmers,  some  of  whom  might 
be  elders  of  the  church.  Three  rounds  were 
fought.  By  the  end  of  the  first  round  all  of  the 
cocks  had  fought,  and  the  victors  were  then  pitted 
against  each  other.  The  cocks  that  survived  the 
second  round  were  eligible  for  the  third,  and  the 
dominie,  besides  his  shilling,  got  every  cock  killed. 
Sometimes,  if  all  stories  be  true,  the  spectators 
were  fighting  with  each  other  before  the  third 
round  concluded. 

The  glen  was  but  sparsely  dotted  with  houses 
even  in  those  days  ;  a  number  of  them  inhabited 
by  farmer-weavers,  who  combined  two  trades  and 
just  managed  to  live.  One  would  have  a  plough, 
another  a  horse,  and  so  in  Glen  Quharity  they 
helped  each  other.  Without  a  loom  in  addition, 
many  of  them  would  have  starved,  and  on  Satur- 
days the  big  farmer  and  his  wife,  driving  home 
in  a  gig,  would  pass  the  little  farmer  carrying  or 
wheeling  his  wob  to  Thrums.  When  there  was 
no  longer  a  market  for  the  produce  of  the  hand- 
loom,  these  farms  had  to  be  given  up,  and  thus  it 
is  that  the  old  school  is  not  the  only  house  in  our 
weary  glen  around  which  gooseberry  and  currant 
bushes,  once  tended  by  careful  hands,  now  grow 
wild. 

In  heavy  spates  the  children  were  conveyed  to 
the  old  school,  as  they  are  still  to  the  new  one,  in 
carts,  and  between  it  and  the  dominie's  white- 
washed dwelling-house  swirled  in  winter  a  tor- 


I  o8  AULD  LICH  T  ID  YLS. 

rent  of  water  that  often  carried  lumps  of  the  land 
along  with  it.  This  burn  he  had  at  times  to  ford 
on  stilts. 

Before  the  Education  Act  passed,  the  dominie 
w^as  not  much  troubled  by  the  school  inspector, 
who  appeared  in  great  splendor  every  year  at 
Thrums.  Fifteen  years  ago,  however,  Glen 
Quharity  resolved  itself  into  a  School  Board,  and 
marched  down  the  glen,  with  the  minister  at  its 
head,  to  condemn  the  school.  When  the  dominie, 
who  had  heard  of  their  design,  saw"  the  board 
approaching,  he  sent  one  of  his  scholars,  who 
enjoyed  making  a  mess  of  himself,  wading  across 
the  burn  to  bring  over  the  stilts  which  were  lying 
on  the  other  side.  The  board  were  thus  unable 
to  send  across  a  spokesman,  and  after  they  had 
harangued  the  dominie,  who  was  in  the  best  of 
tempers,  from  the  wrong  side  of  the  stream,  the 
seige  was  raised  by  their  returning  home,  this 
time  with  the  minister  in  the  rear.  So  far  as  is 
known,  this  was  the  only  occasion  on  which  the 
dominie  ever  lifted  his  hat  to  the  minister.  He 
was  the  Established  Church  minister  at  the  top  of 
the  glen,  but  the  dominie  was  an  Auld  Licht,  and 
trudged  into  Thrums  to  church  nearly  every  Sun- 
day with  his  daughter. 

The  farm  of  Little  Tilly  lay  so  close  to  the 
dominie's  house  that  from  one  window  he  could 
see  through  a  telescope  whether  the  farmer  was 
going  to  church,  owing  to  Little  Tilly's  habit  of 


A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS.  1 09 

never  shaving  except  with  that  intention,  and  of 
always  doing  it  at  a  looking-glass  which  he  hung 
on  a  nail  in  his  door.  The  farmer  was  Estab- 
lished Church,  and  when  the  dominie  saw  him  in 
his  shirt-sleeves  with  a  razor  in  his  hand,  he  called 
for  his  black  clothes.  If  he  did  not  see  him  it  is 
undeniable  that  the  dominie  sent  his  daughter  to 
Thrums,  but  remained  at  home  himself.  Possibly, 
therefore,  the  dominie  sometimes  went  to  church, 
because  he  did  not  want  to  give  Little  Tilly  and 
the  Established  minister  the  satisfaction  of  know- 
ing that  he  was  not  devout  to-day,  and  it  is  even 
conceivable  that  had  Little  Tilly  had  a  telescope 
and  an  intellect  as  well  as  his  neighbor,  he  would 
have  spied  on  the  dominie  in  return.  He  sent  the 
teacher  a  load  of  potatoes  every  year,  and  the 
recipient  rated  him  soundly  if  they  did  not  turn 
out  as  well  as  the  ones  he  had  got  the  autumn 
before.  Little  Tilly  was  rather  in  awe  of  the 
dominie,  and  had  an  idea  that  he  was  a  Free- 
thinker, because  he  played  the  fiddle  and  wore  a 
black  cap. 

The  dominie  was  a  wizened-looking  little  man, 
with  sharp  eyes  that  pierced  you  when  they 
thought  they  were  unobserved,  and  if  any  visitor 
drew  near  who  might  be  a  member  of  the  board, 
he  disappeared  into  his  house  much  as  a  startled 
weasel  makes  for  its  hole.  The  most  striking 
thing  about  him  was  his  walk,  which  to  the  casual 
observer  seemed  a  limp.     The  glen  in  our  part  is 


no  A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS. 

marshy,  and  to  progress  along  it  you  have  to 
jump  from  one  little  island  of  grass  or  heather  to 
another.  Perhaps  it  was  this  that  made  the  dom- 
inie take  the  main  road  and  even  the  streets  of 
Thrums  in  leaps,  as  if  there  were  bowlders  or 
puddles  in  the  way.  It  is,  however,  currently 
believed  among  those  who  knew  him  best,  that  he 
jerked  himself  along  in  that  way  when  he  applied 
for  the  vacancy  in  Glen  Quharity  school,  and  that 
he  was  therefore  chosen  from  among  the  candi- 
dates by  the  committee  of  farmers,  who  saw  that 
he  was  specially  constructed  for  the  district. 

In  the  spring  the  inspector  was  sent  to  report 
on  the  school,  and,  of  course,  he  said,  with  a 
wave  of  his  hand,  that  this  would  never  do.  So 
a  new  school  was  built,  and  the  ramshackle  little 
academy  that  had  done  good  service  in  its  day 
was  closed  for  the  last  time.  For  years  it  had 
been  without  a  lock  ;  ever  since  a  blatter  of  wind 
and  rain  drove  the  door  against  the  fireplace. 
After  that  it  was  the  dominie's  custom,  on  seeing 
the  room  cleared,  to  send  in  a  smart  boy — a  dux 
was  always  chosen — who  wedged  a  clod  of  earth 
or  peat  between  door-post  and  door.  Thus  the 
school  was  locked  up  for  the  night.  The  boy 
came  out  by  the  window,  where  he  entered  to 
open  the  door  next  morning.  In  time  grass  hid 
the  little  path  from  view  that  led  to  the  old  school, 
and  a  dozen  years  ago  every  particle  of  wood 
about  the  building,  including  the  door  and  the 


A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS.  1 1 1 

framework  of  the  windows,  had  been  burned  by 
travelling  tinkers. 

The  board  would  have  liked  to  leave  the  domi- 
nie in  his  whitewashed  dwelling-house  to  enjoy 
his  old  age  comfortably,  and  until  he  learned  that 
he  had  intended  to  retire.  Then  he  changed  his 
tactics  and  removed  his  beard.  Instead  of  railing 
at  the  new  school,  he  began  to  approve  of  it,  and 
it  soon  came  to  the  ears  of  the  horrified  Estab- 
lished minister,  who  had  a  man  (EstabHshed)  in 
his  eye  for  the  appointment,  that  the  dominie  was 
looking  ten  .years  younger.  As  he  spurned  a  pen- 
sion he  had  to  get  the  place,  and  then  began  a 
warfare  of  dickerings  between  the  board  and  him 
that  lasted  until  within  a  few  weeks  of  his  death. 
In  his  scholastic  barn  the  dominie  had  thumped 
the  Latin  grammar  into  his  scholars  till  they  be- 
came university  bursars  to  escape  him.  In  the 
new  school,  with  maps  (which  he  hid  in  the  hen- 
house) and  every  other  modern  appliance  for 
making  teaching  easy,  he  was  the  scandal  of  the 
glen.  He  snapped  at  the  clerk  of  the  board's 
throat,  and  barred  his  door  in  the  minister's  face. 
It  was  one  of  his  favorite  relaxations  to  peregri- 
nate the  district,  telling  the  farmers  who  were  not 
on  the  board  themselves,  but  were  given  to  gos- 
siping with  those  who  were,  that  though  he  could 
slumber  pleasantly  in  the  school  so  long  as  the 
hum  of  the  standards  was  kept  up,  he  immediately 
woke  if  it  ceased. 


112  A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS. 

Having  settled  himself  in  his  new  quarters,  the 
dominie  seems  to  have  read  over  the  code  and 
come  at  once  to  the  conclusion  that  it  would  be 
idle  to  think  of  straightforwardly  fulfilling  its  re- 
quirements. The  inspector  he  regarded  as  a 
natural  enemy,  who  was  to  be  circumvented  by 
much  guile.  One  year  that  admirable  Oxford 
don  arrived  at  the  school,  to  find  that  all  the  chil- 
dren, except  two  girls — one  of  whom  had  her  face 
tied  up  with  red  flannel — were  away  for  the  har- 
vest. On  another  occasion  the  dominie  met  the 
inspector's  trap  some  distance  from  the  school, 
and  explained  that  he  would  guide  him  by  a  short 
cut,  leaving  the  driver  to  take  the  dog-cart  to  a 
farm  where  it  could  be  put  up.  The  unsuspecting 
inspector  agreed,  and  they  set  off,  the  obsequious 
dominie  carrying  his  bag.  He  led  his  victim  into 
another  glen,  the  hills  round  which  had  hidden 
their  heads  in  mist,  and  then  slyly  remarked  that 
he  was  afraid  they  had  lost  their  way.  The  min- 
ister, who  liked  to  attend  the  examination,  re- 
proved the  dominie  for  providing  no  luncheon, 
but  turned  pale  when  his  enemy  suggested  that  he 
should  examine  the  boys  in  Latin. 

For  some  reason  that  I  could  never  discover, 
the  dominie  had  all  his  life  refused  to  teach  his 
scholars  geography.  The  inspector  and  many 
others  asked  him  why  there  was  no  geography 
class,  and  his  invariable  answer  was  to  point  to 


A  ULD  LICHT  ID  YLS.  1 13 

his  pupils  collectively,  and  reply  in  an  impressive 
whisper : 

"They  winna  hae  her." 

This  story,  too,  seems  to  reflect  against  the 
dominie's  views  on  cleanliness.  One  examination 
day  the  minister  attended  to  open  the  inspection 
with  prayer.  Just  as  he  was  finishing,  a  scholar 
entered  who  had  a  reputation  for  dirt. 

**Michty  !  "  cried  a  little  pupil,  as  his  opening 
eyes  fell  on  the  apparition  at  the  door,  "there's 
Jocky  Tamson  wi'  his  face  washed  !  " 

When  the  dominie  was  a  younger  man  he  had 
first  clashed  with  the  minister  during  Mr.  Rat- 
tray's attempts  to  do  away  with  some  old  customs 
that  were  already  dying  by  inches.  One  was  the 
selection  of  a  queen  of  beauty  from  among  the 
young  women  at  the  annual  Thrums  fair.  The 
judges,  who  were  selected  from  the  better-known 
farmers  as  a  rule,  sat  at  the  door  of  a  tent  that 
reeked  of  whiskey,  and  regarded  the  competitors 
filing  by  much  as  they  selected  prize  sheep,  with 
a  stolid  stare.  There  was  much  giggling  and 
blushing  on  these  occasions  among  the  maidens, 
and  shouts  from  their  relatives  and  friends  to 
"Haudyerhead  up,  Jean,"  and  "Lat  them  see 
yer  een,  Jess."  The  dominie  enjoyed  this,  and 
was  one  time  chosen  a  judge,  when  he  insisted 
on  the  prize  being  bestowed  on  his  own  daughter, 
Marget.  The  other  judges  demurred,  but  the 
dominie  remained  firm  and  won  the  day. 
8 


114  A  t/LD  LIGHT  ID  YLS. 

**She  wasna  the  best-faured  among  them,"  he 
admitted  afterward,  ''but  a  man  maun  mak  the 
maist  o'  his  ain." 

The  dominie,  too,  would  not  shake  his  head 
with  Mr.  Rattray  over  the  apple  and  loaf  bread 
raffles  in  the  smithy,  nor  even  at  the  Daft  Days, 
the  black  week  of  glum  debauch  that  ushered  in 
the  year,  a  period  when  the  whole  countryside 
rumbled  to  the  farmers'   ''kebec"  laden  cart. 

For  the  great  part  of  his  career  the  dominie  had 
not  made  forty  pounds  a  year,  but  he  "  died 
worth  "  about  three  hundred  pounds.  The  moral 
of  his  life  came  in  just  as  he  was  leaving  it,  for 
he  rose  from  his  death-bed  to  hide  a  whiskey- 
bottle  from  his  wife. 


A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS.  1 1 5 


CHAPTER  VII. 

CREE  QUEERY  AND  MYSY  DROLLY. 

The  children  used  to  fling  stones  at  Grinder 
Queery  because  he  loved  his  mother.  I  never 
heard  the  Grinder's  real  name.  He  and  his 
mother  were  Queery  and  Drolly,  contemptuously 
so-called,  and  they  answered  to  these  names.  I 
remember  Creebest  as  a  battered  old  weaver,  who 
bent  forward  as  he  walked,  with  his  arms  hang- 
ing limp  as  if  ready  to  grasp  the  shafts  of  the  bar- 
row behind  which  it  was  his  life  to  totter  up  hill 
and  down  hill,  a  rope  of  yarn  suspended  round 
his  shaking  neck  and  fastened  to  the  shafts,  assist- 
ing him  to  bear  the  yoke  and  slowly  strangling 
him.  By  and  by  there  came  a  time  when  the 
barrow  and  the  weaver  seemed  both  palsy- 
stricken,  and  Cree,  gasping  for  breath,  would 
stop  in  the  middle  of  a  brae,  unable  to  push  his 
load  over  a  stone.  Then  he  laid  himself  down 
behind  it  to  prevent  the  barrow's  slipping  back. 
On  those  occasions  only  the  barefooted  boys 
who  jeered  at  the  panting  weaver  could  put  new 
strength  into  his  shrivelled  arms.  They  did  it  by 
telling  him  that  he  and  Mysy  would  have  to  go 


1 1 6  A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS. 

to  the  *' poors-house"  after  all,  at  which  the  gray 
old  man  would  wmce,  as  if  ''joukin"  from  a 
blow,  and,  shuddering,  rise,  and,  with  a  despe- 
rate effort,  gain  the  top  of  the  incline.  Small 
blame  perhaps  attached  to  Cree  if,  as  he  neared 
his  grave,  he  grew  a  little  dottle.  His  loads  of 
yarn  frequently  took  him  past  the  workhouse,  and 
his  eyelids  quivered  as  he  drew  near.  Boys  used 
to  gather  round  the  gate  in  anticipation  of  his 
coming,  and  make  a  feint  of  driving  him  inside. 
Cree,  when  he  observed  them,  sat  down  on  his 
barrow-shafts  terrified  to  approach,  and  I  see  them 
now  pointing  to  the  workhouse  till  he  left  his  bar- 
row on  the  road  and  hobbled  away,  his  legs 
cracking  as  he  ran. 

It  is  strange  to  know  that  there  was  once  a  time 
when  Cree  was  young  and  straight,  a  callant  who 
wore  a  flower  in  his  button-hole  and  tried  to  be 
a  hero  for  a  maiden's  sake. 

Before  Cree  settled  down  as  a  weaver,  he  was 
knife  and  scissor  grinder  for  three  counties,  and 
Mysy,  his  mother,  accompanied  him  wherever  he 
went.  Mysy  trudged  alongside  him  till  her  eyes 
grew  dim  and  her  limbs  failed  her,  and  then  Cree 
was  told  that  she  must  be  sent  to  the  pauper's 
home.  After  that  a  pitiable  and  beautiful  sight 
was  to  be  seen.  Grinder  Queery,  already  a  feeble 
man,  would  wheel  his  grindstone  along  the  long 
high-road,  leaving  Mysy  behind.  He  took  the 
stone  on  a  few  hundred  yards,  and  then,  hiding 


AULD  LIGHT  IDYLS. 


117 


it  by  the  road-side  in  a  ditch  or  behind  a  paling* 
returned  for  his  mother.  Her  he  led — sometimes 
he  almost  carried  her — to  the  place  where  the 
grindstone  lay,  and  thus  by  double  journeys 
kept  her  with  him.  Every  one  said  that  Mysy's 
death  would  be  a  merciful  release — every  one  but 
Cree. 

Cree  had  been  a  grinder  from  his  youth,  hav- 
ing learned  the  trade  from  his  father,  but  he  gave 
it  up  when  Mysy  became  almost  blind.  For  a 
time  he  had  to  leave  her  in  Thrums  with  Dan'l 
Wilkie's  wife,  and  find  employment  himself  in 
Tilliedrum.  Mysy  got  me  to  write  several  letters 
for  her  to  Cree,  and  she  cried  while  telling  me 
what  to  say.  I  never  heard  either  of  them  use  a 
term  of  endearment  to  the  other,  but  all  Mysy 
could  tell  me  to  put  in  writing  was :  '  *  Oh,  my 
son  Cree  ;  oh,  my  beloved  son  ;  oh,  I  have  no 
one  but  you ;  oh  Thou  God,  watch  over  my 
Cree  ! "  On  one  of  these  occasions  Mysy  put 
into  my  hands  a  paper,  which  she  said  would 
perhaps  help  me  to  write  the  letter.  It  had  been 
drawn  up  by  Cree  many  years  before,  when  he 
and  his  mother  had  been  compelled  to  part  for  a 
time,  and  I  saw  from  it  that  he  had  been  trying 
to  teach  Mysy  to  write.  The  paper  consisted  of 
phrases  such  as  "Dear  son  Cree,"  ''Loving 
mother,"  "  I  am  takin'  my  food  weel,"  **  Yester- 
day," "Blankets,"  "The  peats  is  near  done," 
*  *  Mr.  Dishart, "  ' '  Come  home,  Cree. "    The  grinder 


I  iS  A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS. 

had  left  this  paper  with  his  mother,  and  she  had 
written  letters  to  him  from  it. 

When  Dan'l  Wilkie  objected  to  keeping  a  cranky 
old  body  like  Mysy  in  his  house,  Cree  came  back 
to  Thrums  and  took  a  single  room  with  a  hand- 
loom  in  it.  The  flooring  was  only  lumpy  earth, 
with  sacks  spread  over  it  to  protect  Mysy's  feet. 
The  room  contained  two  dilapidated  old  coffin, 
beds,  a  dresser,  a  high-backed  arm-chair,  several 
three-legged  stools,  and  two  tables,  of  which  one 
could  be  packed  away  beneath  the  other.  In 
one  corner  stood  the  wheel  at  which  Cree  had  to 
fill  his  own  pirns.  There  was  a  plate-rack  on 
one  wall,  and  near  the  chimney-piece  hung  the 
wag-at-the-wall  clock,  the  time-piece  that  was 
commonest  in  Thrums  at  that  time,  and  that  got 
this  name  because  its  exposed  pendulum  swung 
along  the  wall.  The  two  windows  in  the  room 
faced  each  other  on  opposite  walls,  and  were  so 
small  that  even  a  child  might  have  stuck  in  trying 
to  crawl  through  them.  They  opened  on  hinges, 
like  a  door.  In  the  wall  of  the  dark  passage 
leading  from  the  outer  door  into  the  room  was  a 
recess  where  a  pan  and  pitcher  of  water  always 
stood  wedded,  as  it  were,  and  a  little  hole, 
known  as  the  '*bole,"  in  the  wall  opposite  the 
fire  place  contained  Cree's  library.  It  consisted 
of  Baxter's  "Saints'  Rest,"  Harvey's  ''Medita- 
tions," the  **  Pilgrim's  Progress,"  a  work  on  folk- 
lore,   and  several   Bibles.      The   saut-backet,    or 


A  VLD  LlCHT  ID  VLS,  1 19 

salt-bucket,  stood  at  the  end  of  the  fender,  which 
was  half  of  an  old  cart-wheel.  Here  Cree 
worked,  whistUng  '*Ower  the  watter  for  Char- 
lie" to  make  Mysy  think  that  he  was  as  gay  as  a 
mavis.  Mysy  grew  querulous  in  her  old  age, 
and  up  to  the  end  she  thought  of  poor,  done  Cree 
as  a  handsome  gallant.  Only  by  weaving  far  on 
into  the  night  could  Cree  earn  as  much  as  six 
shillings  a  week.  He  began  at  six  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  and  worked  until  midnight  by  the  light 
of  his  cruizey.  The  cruizey  was  all  the  lamp 
Thrums  had  in  those  days,  though  it  is  only  to  be 
seen  in  use  now  in  a  few  old-world  houses  in  the 
glens.  It  is  an  ungainly  thing  in  iron,  the  size  of 
a  man's  palm,  and  shaped  not  unlike  the  palm 
when  contracted  and  deepened  to  hold  a  liquid. 
Whale-oil,  lying  open  in  the  mould,  was  used, 
and  the  wick  was  a  rash  with  the  green  skin 
peeled  off.  These  rashes  were  sold  by  herd- 
boys  at  a  halfpenny  the  bundle,  but  Cree  gathered 
his  own  wicks.  The  rashes  skin  readily  when 
you  know  how  to  do  it.  The  iron  mould  was 
placed  inside  another  of  the  same  shape,  but 
slightly  larger,  for  in  time  the  oil  dripped  through 
the  iron,  and  the  whole  was  then  hung  by  a  cleek 
or  hook  close  to  the  person  using  it.  Even  with 
three  wicks  it  gave  but  a  stime  of  light,  and  never 
allowed  the  weaver  to  see  more  than  the  half 
of  his  loom  at  a  time.  Sometimes  Cree  used 
threads  for  wicks.     He  was  too  dull  a  man  to 


1 20  A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS. 

have  many  visitors,  but  Mr.  Dishart  called  occa- 
sionally and  reproved  him  for  telling  his  mother 
lies.  The  lies  Cree  told  Mysy  were  that  he  was 
sharing  the  meals  he  won  for  her,  and  that  he 
wore  the  overcoat  which  he  had  exchanged  years 
before  for  a  blanket  to  keep  her  warm. 

There  was  a  terrible  want  of  spirit  about 
Grinder  Queery.  Boys  used  to  climb  on  to  his 
stone  roof  with  clods  of  damp  earth  in  their 
hands,  which  they  dropped  down  the  chimney. 
Mysy  was  bedridden  by  this  time,  and  the  smoke 
threatened  to  choke  her ;  so  Cree,  instead  of 
chasing  his  persecutors,  bargained  with  them. 
He  gave  them  fly-hooks  which  he  had  busked 
himself,  and  when  he  had  nothing  left  to  give 
he  tried  to  flatter  them  into  dealing  gently  with 
Mysy  by  talking  to  them  as  men.  One  night  it 
went  through  the  town  that  Mysy  now  lay  in  bed 
all  day  listening  for  her  summons  to  depart.  Ac- 
cording to  her  ideas  this  would  come  in  the  form 
of  a  tapping  at  the  window,  and  their  intention 
was  to  forestall  the  spirit.  Dite  Gow's  boy,  who 
is  now  a  grown  man,  was  hoisted  up  to  one  of  the 
little  windows,  and  he  has  always  thought  of 
Mysy  since  as  he  saw  her  then  for  the  last  time. 
She  lay  sleeping,  so  far  as  he  could  see,  and  Cree 
sat  by  the  fireside  looking  at  her. 

Every  one  knew  that  there  was  seldom  a  fire 
in  that  house  unless  Mysy  was  cold.  Cree 
seemed  to  think  that  the  fire  was  getting  low.     In 


A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS.  121 

the  little  closet,  which,  with  the  kitchen,  made  up 
his  house,  was  a  corner  shut  off  from  the  rest  of 
the  room  by  a  few  boards,  and  behind  this  he 
kept  his  peats.  There  was  a  similar  receptacle 
for  potatoes  in  the  kitchen.  Cree  wanted  to  get 
another  peat  for  the  fire  without  disturbing  Mysy. 
First  he  took  off  his  boots,  and  made  for  the  peats 
on  tip-toe.  His  shadow  was  cast  on  the  bed, 
however,  so  he  next  got  down  on  his  knees  and 
crawled  softly  into  the  closet.  With  the  peat  in 
his  hands  he  returned  in  the  same  way,  glancing 
every  moment  at  the  bed  where  Mysy  lay. 
Though  Tammy  Gow's  face  was  pressed  against 
a  broken  window,  he  did  not  hear  Cree  putting 
that  peat  on  the  fire.  Some  say  that  Mysy  heard, 
but  pretended  not  to  do  so  for  her  son's  sake  ; 
that  she  realized  the  deception  he  played  on  her 
and  had  not  the  heart  to  undeceive  him.  But  it 
would  be  too  sad  to  believe  that.  The  boys  left 
Cree  alone  that  night. 

The  old  weaver  lived  on  alone  in  that  soHtary 
house  after  Mysy  left  him,  and  by  and  by  the 
story  went  abroad  that  he  was  saving  money. 
At  first  no  one  believed  this  except  the  man  who 
told  it,  but  there  seemed  after  all  to  be  something 
in  it.  You  had  only  to  hit  Cree's  trouser  pocket 
to  hear  the  money  chinking,  for  he  was  afraid  to 
let  it  out  of  his  clutch.  Those  who  sat  on  dykes 
with  him  when  his  day's  labor  was  over,  said 
Ihat  the  weaver  kept  his  hand  all  the  time  in  his 


122  A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS. 

pocket,  and  that  they  saw  his  lips  move  as  he 
counted  his  hoard  by  letting  it  slip  through  his 
fingers.  .  So  there  were  boys  who  called  "  Miser 
Queery  "  after  him  instead  of  Grinder,  and  asked 
him  whether  he  was  saving  up  to  keep  himself 
from  the  workhouse. 

But  we  had  all  done  Cree  wrong.  It  came  out 
on  his  death-bed  what  he  had  been  storing  up 
his  money  for.  Grinder,  according  to  the  doctor, 
died  of  getting  a  good  meal  from  a  friend  of 
his  earlier  days,  after  being  accustomed  to  starve 
on  potatoes  and  a  very  little  oatmeal  indeed. 
The  day  before  he  died  this  friend  sent  him  half 
a  sovereign,  and  when  Grinder  saw  it  he  sat  up 
excitedly  in  his  bed  and  pulled  his  corduroys 
from  beneath  his  pillow.  The  woman  who,  out 
of  kindness,  attended  him  in  his  last  illness, 
looked  on  curiously  while  Cree  added  the  six- 
pences and  coppers  in  his  pocket  to  the  half- 
sovereign.  After  all  they  only  made  some  two 
pounds,  but  a  look  of  peace  came  into  Cree's 
eyes  as  he  told  the  woman  to  take  it  all  to  a  shop 
in  the  town.  Nearly  twelve  years  previously, 
Jamie  Lownie  had  lent  him  two  pounds,  and 
though  the  money  was  never  asked  for,  it  preyed 
on  Cree's  mind  that  he  was  in  debt.  He  paid 
off  all  he  owed,  and  so  Cree's  life  was  not,  I 
think,  a  failure, 


A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS,  \  23 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE    COURTING  OF   t'nOWHEAD's    BELL. 

For  two  years  it  had  been  notorious  in  the 
square  that  Sam'l  Dickie  was  thinking  of  courting 
T'nowhead's  Bell,  and  that  if  little  Sanders 
Elshioner  (which  is  the  Thrums  pronunciation  of 
Alexander  Alexander),  went  in  for  her,  he  might 
prove  a  formidable  rival.  Sam'l  was  a  weaver  in 
the  Tenements,  and  Sanders  a  coal-carter,  whose 
trade-mark  was  a  bell  on  his  horse's  neck  that 
told  when  coal  was  coming.  Being  something 
of  a  public  man,  Sanders  had  not,  perhaps,  so 
high  a  social  position  as  Sam'l,  but  he  had  suc- 
ceeded his  father  on  the  coal-cart,  while  the 
weaver  had  already  tried  several  trades.  It  had 
always  been  against  Sam'l,  too,  that  once  when 
the  kirk  was  vacant,  he  had  advised  the  selec- 
tion of  the  third  minister  who  preached  for  it 
on  the  ground  that  it  came  expensive  to  pay  a 
large  number  of  candidates.  The  scandal  of 
the  thing  was  hushed  up,  out  of  respect  for  his 
father,  who  was  a  God-fearing  man,  but  Sam'l 
was  known  by  it  in  Lang  Tammas'  circle.  The 
coal-carter  was  called  Little  Sanders,  to  distin- 


124  A  ^^LD  LIGHT  ID  YLS. 

guish  him  from  his  father,  who  was  not  much 
more  than  half  his  size.  He  had  grown  up 
with  the  name,  and  its  inapplicability  now  came 
home  to  nobody.  Sam'l's  mother  had  been  more 
far-seeing  than  Sanders'.  Her  man  had  been 
called  Sammy  all  his  life,  because  it  was  the 
name  he  got  as  a  boy,  so  when  their  eldest 
son  was  born  she  spoke  of  him  as  Sam'l  while 
still  in  the  cradle.  The  neighbors  imitated  her, 
and  thus  the  young  man  had  a  better  start  in 
life  than  had  been  granted  to  Sammy,  his  father. 

It  was  Saturday  evening— the  night  in  the 
week  when  Auld  Licht  young  men  fell  in  love. 
Sam'l  Dickie,  wearing  a  blue  glengarry  bonnet 
with  a  red  ball  on  the  top,  came  to  the  door  of 
a  one-story  house  in  the  Tenements,  and  stood 
there  wriggling,  for  he  was  in  a  suit  of  tweed 
for  the  first  time  that  week,  and  did  not  feel  at 
one  with  them.  When  his  feeling  of  being  a 
stranger  to  himself  wore  off,  he  looked  up  and 
down  the  road,  which  straggles  between  houses 
and  gardens,  and  then,  picking  his  way  over  the 
puddles,  crossed  to  his  father's  hen-house  and 
sat  down  on  it.  He  was  now  on  his  way  to  the 
square. 

Eppie  Fargus  was  sitting  on  an  adjoining  dyke 
knitting  stockings,  and  Sam'l  looked  at  her  for  a 
time. 

"Is't  yersel',  Eppie?  "  he  said  at  last. 

^Mjt's  a'  that,"  said  Eppi^. 


A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS.  1 2  5 

*'  Hoo's  a'  wi'  ye?  "  asked  Sam'l. 

"We're  juist  aff  an'  on,"  replied  Eppie,  cau- 
tiously. 

There  was  not  much  more  to  say,  but  as 
Sam'l  sidled  off  the  hen-house,  he  murmured 
politely,  "Ay,  ay."  In  another  minute  he  would 
have  been  fairly  started,  but  Eppie  resumed  the 
conversation. 

"Sam'l,"  she  said,  with  a  twinkle  in  her  eye, 
"ye  can  tell  Lisbeth  Fargus  I'll  likely  be  drap- 
pin'  in  on  her  aboot  Mununday  or  Teisday." 

Lisbeth  was  sister  to  Eppie,  and  wife  of  Tam- 
mas  McQuhatty,  better  known  as  T'nowhead, 
which  was  the  name  of  his  farm.  She  was  thus 
Bell's  mistress. 

Sam'l  leaned  against  the  hen-house,  as  if  all 
his  desire  to  depart  had  gone. 

"Hoo  d'ye  ken  I'll  be  at  the  T'nowhead  the 
nicht  ?  "  he  asked,  grinning  in  anticipation. 

"  Oujl'se  warrant  ye'U  be  after  Bell,"  said  Eppie. 

"'Am  no  sae  sure  o'  that, "  said  Sam'l,  trying 
to  leer.     He  was  enjoying  himself  now. 

"'Am  no  sure  o'  that,"  he  repeated,  for  Eppie 
seemed  lost  in  stitches. 

"Sam'l!" 

"Ay." 

"Ye'U  be  speirin'  her  soon  noo,  I  dinna 
doot  ? " 

This  took  Sam'l,  who  had  only  been  courting 
Bell  for  a  year  or  two,  a  little  aback. 


126  A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS. 

"Hoo  d'ye  mean,  Eppie?"'  he  asked. 

"Maybe  ye'll  do't  the  nicht." 

"Na,  there's  nae  hurry,"  said  Sam'l. 

*'Weel,  we're  a'  coontin'  on't,  Sam'L" 

*  *  Gae  wa  wi'  ye." 

*^What  for  no?" 

* '  Gae  wa  wi'  ye, "  said  Sam'l  again. 

"Bell's  gei  an'  fond  o'  ye,  Sam'l." 

"Ay,"  said  Sam'l. 

"But  am  dootin'  ye're  a  fell  billy  wi'  the 
lasses. " 

"Ay,  oh,  I  d'na  ken,  moderate,  moderate," 
said  Sam'l,  in  high  delight. 

"I  saw  ye,"  said  Eppie,  speaking  with  a  wire 
in  her  mouth,  "gae'in  on  terr'ble  wi'  Mysy  Hag- 
gart  at  the  pump  last  Saturday." 

"We  was  juist  amoosin' oorsels,"  said  Sam'l. 

"It'll  be  nae  amoosement  to  Mysy,"  said  Ep- 
pie,   "  gin  ye  brak  her  heart." 

"Losh,  Eppie,"  said  Sam'l,  "I  didna  think  o' 
that.'' 

"Ye  maun  ken  weel,  Sam'l,  'at  there's  mony  a 
lass  wid  jump  at  ye." 

"Ou,  weel,"  said  Sam'l,  implying  that  a  man 
must  take  these  things  as  they  come. 

"For  ye're  a  dainty  chield  to  look  at,  Sam'l." 

"Do  ye  think  so,  Eppie  .?  Ay,  ay  ;  oh,  I  d'na 
ken  am  onything  by  the  ordinar." 

"  Ye  mayna  be,"  said  Eppie,  "  but  lasses 
doesna  do  to  be  ower  partikler," 


A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS.  1 2 7 

Sam'l  resented  this,  and  prepared  to  depart 
again. 

"  Ye'll  no  tell  Bell  that?  "  he  asked,  anxiously. 

*'Tell  her  what?" 

*'  Aboot  me  an'  Mysy." 

"  Well  see  hoo  ye  behave  yersel',  Sam'l." 

''No 'at  I  care,  Eppie ;  ye  can  tell  her  gin 
ye  like.  I  widna  think  twice  o'  tellin'  her 
mysel'." 

*'  The  Lord  forgie  ye  for  leein',  Sam'l,"  said 
Eppie,  as  he  disappeared  down  Tammy  Tosh's 
close.     Here  he  cam    upon  Renders  Webster. 

**Ye're  late,  Sam'l,"  said  Renders. 

*'What  for?" 

**  Ou,  I  was  thinkin'  ye  wid  be  gaen  the  length 
o'  T'nowhead  the  nicht,  an'  I  saw  Sanders  El- 
shioner  makkin's  wy  there  an  oor  syne." 

'*  Did  ye?  "  cried  Sam'l,  adding  craftily,  "  but 
it's  naething  to  me." 

*'Tod,  lad,"  said  Renders,  "gin  ye  dinna 
buckle  to  Sandexo'il  be  carryin'  her  off." 

Sam'l  flung  b.xk  his  head  and  passed  on. 

*'  Sam'l !  "  cried  Renders  after  him. 

"Ay,"  said  Sam'l,  wheeling  round. 

"  Gie  Bell  a  kiss  frae  me." 

The  full  force  of  this  joke  struck  neither  all  at 
once.  Sam'l  began  to  smile  at  it  as  he  turned 
down  the  school-wynd,  and  it  came  upon  Renders 
while  he  was  in  his  garden  feeding  his  ferret. 
Then  he  slapped  his  le^s  gleefully,  and  explained 


128  A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS, 

the  conceit  to  WiU'um  Byars,  who  went  into  the 
house  and  thought  it  over. 

There  were  twelve  or  twenty  little  groups  of 
men  in  the  square,  which  was  ht  by  a  flare  of  oil 
suspended  over  a  cadger's  cart.  Now  and  again 
a  staid  young  woman  passed  through  the  square 
with  a  basket  on  her  arm,  and  if  she  had  lingered 
long  enough  to  give  them  time,  some  of  the  idlers 
would  have  addressed  her.  As  it  was,  they  gazed 
after  her,  and  then  grinned  to  each  other. 

"  Ay,  Sam'l,"  said  two  or  three  young  men,  as 
Sam'l  joined  them  beneath  the  town-clock. 

"  Ay,  Davit,"  replied  Sam'l. 

This  group  was  composed  of  some  of  the 
sharpest  wits  in  Thrums,  and  it  was  not  to  be  ex- 
pected that  they  would  let  this  opportunity  pass. 
Perhaps  when  Sam'l  joined  them  he  knew  what 
was  in  store  for  him. 

'*  Was  ye  lookin'  for T'nowhead's  Bell,  Sam'l?" 
asked  one. 

"Or  mebbe  ye  was  wan  tin'  the  minister.?" 
suggested  another,  the  same  who  had  walked  out 
twice  with  Chirsty  Duff  and  not  married  her  after 
all. 

Saml  could  not  think  of  a  good  reply  at  the 
moment,  so  he  laughed  good-naturedly. 

*'  Ondootedly  she's  a  snod  bit  crittur,"  said 
Davit,   archly. 

"  An'  michty  clev.er  wi'  her  fingers,"  added 
Jamie  Deucharg. 


A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS.  1 29 

"  Man,  I've  thocht  o'  makkin'  up  to  Bell  myselV' 
said  Pete  Ogle.  "  Wid  there  be  ony  chance,  think 
ye,  Sam'l  ? " 

*'  Fm  thinkin'  she  widna  hae  ye  for  her  first, 
Pete,"  replied  Sam'l,  in  one  of  those  happy  flashes 
that  come  to  some  men,  "  but  there's  nae  sayin' 
but  what  she  micht  tak  ye  to  finish  up  wi'. " 

The  unexpectedness  of  this  sally  startled  every 
one.  Though  Sam'l  did  not  set  up  for  a  wit, 
however,  like  Davit,  it  was  notorious  that  he 
could  say  a  cutting  thing  once  in  a  way. 

"  Did  ye  ever  see  Bell  reddin'  up  ? "  asked  Pete, 
recovering  from  his  overthrow.  He  was  a  man 
who  bore  no  malice. 

*'  It's  asicht,"  said  Sam'l,  solemnly. 

**  Hoo  will  that  be?"  asked  Jamie  Deuchars. 

'*  It's  weel  worth  yer  while,"  said  Pete,  **  to 
ging  atower  to  the  T'nowhead  an'  see.  Ye'U 
mind  the  closed-in  beds  i'  the  kitchen  ?  Ay,  weel, 
they're  a  fell  spoilt  crew,  T'nowhead's  litlins,  an' 
no  that  easy  to  manage.  Th'  ither  lasses  Lisbeth's 
hae'n  had  a  michty  trouble  wi'  them.  When  they 
war  i'  the  middle  o'  their  reddin'  up  the  bairns 
wid  come  tumlin'  about  the  floor,  but,  sal,  I  assure 
ye,  Bell  didna  fash  lang  wi'  them.  Did  she, 
Sam'l .?  " 

"  She  did  not,"  said  Sam'l,  dropping  into  a  fine 
mode  of  speech  to  add  emphasis  to  his  remark. 

"I'll   tell  ye  what  she  did,"  said  Pete   to  the 
others.     **Shejuist  lifted  up  the  litlins,  twa  at  a 
9 


130  A ULD  LIGHT  IDYLS. 

time,  an*  flung  them  into  the  coffin-beds.  Syne 
she  snibbit  the  doors  on  them,  an'  keepit  them 
there  till  the  floor  was  dry." 

* '  Ay,  man,  did  she  so  ? "  said  Davit,  admir- 
ingly. 

**  I've  seen  her  do't  myseP,"  said  Sam'l. 

"  There's  no  a  lassie  maks  better  bannocks  this 
side  o'  Fetter  Lums,"  continued  Pete. 

"  Her  mither  tocht  her  that," said  Sam'l ;  *'she 
was  a  gran'  han'  at  the  bakin',  Kitty  Ogilvy." 

''  I've  heard  say,"  remarked  Jamie,  putting  it 
this  way  so  as  not  to  tie  himself  down  to  any- 
thing, *'  'at  Bell's  scones  is  equal  to  Mag  Lunan's." 

"  So  they  are,"  said  Sam'l,  almost  fiercely. 

"  I  ken  she's  a  neat  han'  at  singein'  a  hen," 
said  Pete. 

"  An'  wi't  a',"  said  Davit,  "she's  asnod,  canty 
bit  stocky  in  her  Sabbath  claes." 

**  If  ony thing,  thick  in  the  waist,"  suggested 
Jamie. 

**  I  dinna  see  that,"  said  Sam'l. 

*'  I  d'na  care  for  her  hair  either,"  continued 
Jamie,  who  was  very  nice  in  his  tastes  ;  "  some- 
thing mair  yallowchy  wid  be  an  improvement." 

"  A'body  kens,"  growled  Sam'l,  "'at  black 
hair's  the  bonniest." 

The  others  chuckled. 

"Puir  Sam'l  !"  Pete  said. 

Sam'l  not  being  certain  whether  this  should  be 
received  with   a   smile   or  a  frown,   opened  his 


A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS.  13 1 

mouth  wide  as  a  kind  of  compromise.  This  was 
position  one  with  him  for  thinking  things  over. 

Few  Auld  Lichts,  as  I  have  said,  went  the 
length  of  choosing  a  helpmate  for  themselves. 
One  day  a  young  man's  friends  would  see  him 
mending  the  washing-tub  of  a  maiden's  mother. 
They  kept  the  joke  until  Saturday  night,  and  then 
he  learned  from  them  what  he  had  been  after.  It 
dazed  him  for  a  time,  but  in  a  year  or  so  he  grew 
accustomed  to  the  idea,  and  they  were  then  mar- 
ried. With  a  little  help  he  fell  in  love  just  like 
other  people. 

Sam'l  was  going  the  way  of  the  others,  but  he 
found  it  difficult  to  come  to  the  point.  He  only 
went  courting  once  a  week,  and  he  could  never 
take  up  the  running  at  the  place  where  he  left  off 
the  Saturday  before.  Thus  he  had  not,  so  far, 
made  great  headway.  His  method  of  making  up 
to  Bell  had  been  to  drop  in  at  T'nowhead  on 
Saturday  nights  and  talk  with  the  farmer  about 
the  rinderpest. 

The  farm  kitchen  was  Bell's  testimonial.  Its 
chairs,  tables,  and  stools  w^ere  scoured  by  her  to 
the  whiteness  of  Rob  Angus'  saw-mill  boards,  and 
the  muslin  blind  on  the  window  was  starched  like 
a  child's  pinafore.  Bell  was  brave,  too,  as  well 
as  energetic.  Once  Thrums  had  been  overrun 
with  thieves.  It  is  now  thought  that  there  may 
have  been  only  one,  but  he  had  the  wicked 
cleverness  of  a  gang.     Such  was  his  repute  that 


132  A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS. 

there  were  weavers  who  spoke  of  locking  their 
doors  when  they  went  from  home.  He  was  not 
very  skilful,  however,  being  generally  caught, 
and  when  they  said  they  knew  he  was  a  robber, 
he  gave  them  their  things  back,  and  went  away. 
If  they  had  given  him  time  there  is  no  doubt  that 
he  would  have  gone  off  with  his  plunder.  One 
night  he  went  to  T'nowhead,  and  Bell,  who  slept 
in  the  kitchen,  was  awakened  by  the  noise.  She 
knew  who  it  would  be,  so  she  rose  and  dressed 
herself,  and  went  to  look  for  him  with  a  candle. 
The  thief  had  not  known  what  to  do  when  he  got 
in,  and  as  it  was  very  lonely  he  was  glad  to  see 
Bell.  She  told  him  he  ought  to  be  ashamed  of 
himself,  and  would  not  let  him  out  by  the  door 
until  he  had  taken  off  his  boots  so  as  not  to  soil 
the  carpet. 

On  this  Saturday  evening  Sam'l  stood  his 
ground  in  the  square,  until  by  and  by  he  found 
himself  alone.  There  were  other  groups  there 
still,  but  his  circle  had  melted  away.  They  went 
separately,  and  no  one  said  good-night.  Each 
took  himself  off  slowly,  backing  out  of  the  group 
until  he  was  fairly  started. 

Sam'l  looked  about  him,  and  then,  seeing  that 
the  others  had  gone,  walked  round  the  town- 
house  into  the  darkness  of  the  brae  that  leads 
down  and  then  up  to  the  farm  of  T'nowhead. 

To  get  into  the  good  graces  of  Lisbeth  Fargus 
you  had  to  know   her   ways   and  humor  them. 


A  t/LD  LiCttT  ID  YLS.  133 

Sam'l,  who  was  a  student  of  women,  knew  this, 
and  so,  instead  of  pushing  the  door  open  and 
walking  in,  he  went  through  the  rather  ridiculous 
ceremony  of  knocking.  Sanders  Elshioner  was 
also  aware  of  this  weakness  of  Lisbeth's,  but 
though  he  often  made  up  his  mind  to  knock,  the 
absurdity  of  the  thing  prevented  his  doing  so 
when  he  reached  the  door.  T'nowhead  himself 
had  never  got  used  to  his  wife's  refined  notions, 
and  when  any  one  knocked  he  always  started  to 
his  feet,  thinking  there  must  be  something  wrong. 

Lisbeth  came  to  the  door,  her  expansive  figure 
blocking  the  way  in. 

*' Sam'l,"  she  said. 

"Lisbeth,"  said  Saml. 

He  shook  hands  with  the  farmer's  wife,  know- 
ing that  she  liked  it,  but  only  said,  *'Ay,  Bell," 
to  his  sweetheart,  "Ay,  T'nowhead,"  to  Mc- 
Quhatty,  and  "It's  yersel',  Sanders,"  to  his  rival. 

They  were  all  sitting  round  the  fire  ;  T'nowhead, 
with  his  feet  on  the  ribs,  wondering  why  he  felt 
so  warm,  and  Bell  darned  a  stocking,  while  Lis- 
beth kept  an  eye  on  a  goblet  full  of  potatoes. 

"Sit  into  the  fire,  Sam'l,"  said  the  farmer,  not, 
however,  making  way  for  him. 

"Na,  na,"  said  Sam'l ;  "I'm  to  bide  nae  time." 
Then  he  sat  into  the  fire.  His  face  was  turned 
away  from  Bell,  and  when  she  spoke  he  answered 
her  without  looking  round.  Sam'l  felt  a  little 
anxious.      Sanders   Elshioner,  who  had  one  leg 


134  AULb  UctiT  IDYlS, 

shorter  than  the  other,  but  looked  well  when  sit- 
ting, seemed  suspiciously  at  home.  He  asked 
Bell  questions  out  of  his  own  head,  which  was 
beyond  Sam'l,  and  once  he  said  something  to  her 
in  such  a  low  voice  that  the  others  could  not 
catch  it.  Tnowhead  asked  curiously  what  it 
was,  and  Sanders  explained  that  he  had  only  said 
*'Ay,  Bell,  the  morn's  the  Sabbath."  There  was 
nothing  startling  in  this,  but  Sam'l  did  not  like  it. 
He  began  to  wonder  if  he  were  too  late,  and  had 
he  seen  his  opportunity  would  have  told  Bell  of  a 
nasty  rumor  that  Sanders  intended  to  go  over  to 
the  Free  Church  if  they  would  make  him  kirk- 
officer. 

Sam'l  had  the  good-will  of  T'nowhead's  wife, 
who  liked  a  polite  man.  Sanders  did  his  best, 
but  from  want  of  practice,  he  constantly  made 
mistakes.  To-night,  for  instance,  he  wore  his 
hat  in  the  house  because  he  did  not  like  to  put  up 
his  hand  and  take  it  off.  T'nowhead  had  not  taken 
his  off  either,  but  that  was  because  he  meant  to 
go  out  by  and  by  and  lock  the  byre  door.  It  was 
impossible  to  say  which  of  her  lovers  Bell  pre- 
ferred. The  proper  course  with  an  Auld  Licht 
lassie  was  to  prefer  the  man  who  proposed  to  her. 

**Ye'll  bide  a  wee,  an  hae  something  to  eat  ?" 
Lisbeth  asked  Sam'l,  with  her  eyes  on  the  goblet. 

"No,  I  thank  ye,"  said  Sam'l,  with  true  gen- 
tility. 

*'Ye'll  better." 


A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS.  135 

*'I  dinna  think  it." 

**  Hoots  aye ;  what's  to  hender  ye  ? " 

**Weelj  since  ye're  sae  pressin',  I'll  bide." 

No  one  asked  Sanders  to  stay.  Bell  could  not, 
for  she  was  but  the  servant,  and  T'nowhead  knew 
that  the  kick  his  wife  had  given  him  meant  that 
he  was  not  to  do  so  either.  Sanders  whistled  to 
show  that  he  was  not  uncomfortable. 

**Ay,  then,  I'll  be  stappin'  over  the  brae,"  he 
said  at  last. 

He  did  not  go,  however.  There  was  sufficient 
pride  in  him  to  get  him  off  his  chair,  but  only 
slowly,  for  he  had  to  get  accustomed  to  the 
notion  of  going.  At  intervals  of  two  or  three 
minutes  he  remarked  that  he  must  now  be  going. 
In  the  same  circumstances  Sam'l  would  have 
acted  similarly.  For  a  Thrums  man,  it  is  one  of 
the  hardest  things  in  life  to  get  away  from  any- 
where. 

At  last  Lisbeth  saw  that  something  must  be 
done.  The  potatoes  were  burning,  and  T'now- 
head had  an  invitation  on  his  tongue. 

"Yes,  I'll  hae  to  be  movin',"  said  Sanders, 
hopelessly,  for  the  fifth  time. 

**Guid-nicht  to  ye,  then,  Sanders,"  said  Lis- 
beth.     "Gie  the  door  a  fling-to  ahent  ye." 

Sanders,  with  a  mighty  effort,  pulled  himself 
together.  He  looked  boldly  at  Bell,  and  then 
took  off  his  hat  carefully.  Sam'l  saw  with  mis- 
givings that  there  was  something  in  it  which  was 


136  AULD  LIGHT  IDYLS. 

not  a  handkerchief.  It  was  a  paper  bag  glitter- 
ing with  gold  braid,  and  contained  such  an  as- 
sortment of  sweets  as  lads  bought  for  their  lasses 
on  the  Muckle  Friday. 

"  Hae,  Bell,"  said  Sanders,  handing  the  bag  to 
Bell  in  an  off-hand  way  as  if  it  were  but  a  trifle. 
Nevertheless  he  was  a  little  excited,  for  he  went 
off  without  saying  good-night. 

No  one  spoke.  Bell's  face  was  crimson. 
T'nowhead  fidgeted  on  his  chair,  and  Lisbeth 
looked  at  Sam'l.  The  weaver  was  strangely  calm 
and  collected,  though  he  would  have  liked  to 
know  whether  this  was  a  proposal. 

''Sit  in  by  to  the  table,  Sam'l,"  said  Lisbeth, 
trying  to  look  as  if  things  were  as  they  had  been 
before. 

She  put  a  saucerful  of  butter,  salt,  and  pepper 
near  the  fire  to  melt,  for  melted  butter  is  the  shoe- 
ing-horn  that  helps  over  a  meal  of  potatoes. 
Sam'l,  however,  saw  what  the  hour  required,  and 
jumping  up,  he  seized  his  bonnet. 

"  Hing  the  tatties  higher  up  the  joist,  Lisbeth," 
he  said  with  dignity;  "  I'se  be  back  in  ten 
meenits. " 

He  hurried  out  of  the  house,  leaving  the  others 
looking  at  each  other. 

"What  do  ye  think .?  "  asked  Lisbeth. 

"I  d'na  ken,"  faltered  Bell. 

"Thae  tatties  is  lang  o'  comin'  to  the  boil,'* 
said  T'nowhead. 


A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS.  137 

In  some  circles  a  lover  who  behaved  like  Sam'l 
would  have  been  suspected  of  intent  upon  his 
rival's  life,  but  neither  Bell  nor  Lisbeth  did  the 
weaver  that  injustice.  In  a  case  of  this  kind  it 
does  not  much  matter  what  T'nowhead  thought. 

The  ten  minutes  had  barely  passed  when 
Sam'l  was  back  in  the  farm  kitchen.  He  was  too 
flurried  to  knock  this  time,  and,  indeed,  Lisbeth 
did  not  expect  it  of  him. 

*'Bell,  hae !  "  he  cried,  handing  his  sweet- 
heart a  tinsel,  bag  twice  the  size  of  Sanders' 
gift. 

**  Losh  preserve's  !  "  exclaimed  Lisbeth  ;  "  I'se 
warrant  there's  a  shillin's  worth. " 

"There's  a'  that,  Lisbeth — an'  mair,"  said 
Sam'l  firmly. 

"I  thank  ye,  Sam'l,"  said  Bell,  feeling  an  un- 
wonted elation  as  she  gazed  at  the  two  paper 
bags  in  her  lap. 

"Ye're  ower  extravegint,  Sam'l,"  Lisbeth 
said. 

"Not  at  all,"  said  Sam'l  ;  "not  at  all.  But  I 
widna  advise  ye  to  eat  thae  ither  anes,  Bell — 
they're  second  quality." 

Bell  drew  back  a  step  from  Sam'l. 

"  How  do  ye  ken  ?  "  asked  the  farmer  shortly, 
for  he  liked  Sanders. 

"I  speired  i'  the  shop,"  said  Sam'l. 

The  goblet  was  placed  on  a  broken  plate  on  the 
table  with  the  saucer  beside  it,  and  Sam'l,  like 


138  A ULD  LIGHT  IDYLS. 

the  others,  helped  himself.  What  he  did  was  to 
take  potatoes  from  the  pot  with  his  fingers,  peel 
off  their  coats,  and  then  dip  them  into  the  butter. 
Lisbeth  would  have  liked  to  provide  knives  and 
forks,  but  she  knew  that  beyond  a  certain  point 
T'nowhead  was  master  in  his  own  house.  As  for 
Sam'l,  he  felt  victory  in  his  hands,  and  began  to 
think  that  he  had  gone  too  far. 

In  the  mean  time  Sanders,  little  witting  that 
Sam'l  had  trumped  his  trick,  was  sauntering  along 
the  kirk-wynd  with  his  hat  on  the  side  of  his 
head.     Fortunately  he  did  not  meet  the  minister. 

The  courting  of  T  nowhead's  Bell  reached  its 
crisis  one  Sabbath  about  a  month  after  the  events 
above  recorded.  The  minister  was  in  great  force 
that  day,  but  it  is  no  part  of  mine  to  tell  how  he 
bore  himself.  I  was  there,  and  am  not  likely  to 
forget  the  scene.  It  was  a  fateful  Sabbath  for 
T'nowhead's  Bell  and  her  swains,  and  destined  to 
be  remembered  for  the  painful  scandal  which 
they  perpetrated  in  their  passion. 

Bell  was  not  in  the  kirk.  There  being  an  in- 
fant of  six  months  in  the  house  it  was  a  question 
of  either  Lisbeth  or  the  lassie's  staying  at  home 
with  him,  and  though  Lisbeth  was  unselfish  in  a 
general  way,  she  could  not  resist  the  delight  of 
going  to  church.  She  had  nine  children  besides 
the  baby,  and  being  but  a  woman,  it  was  the  pride 
of  her  life  to  march  them  into  the  T'nowhead  pew, 
so  well  watched  that  they  dared  not  misbehave. 


A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS.  139 

and  so  tightly  packed  that  they  could  not  fall. 
The  congregation  looked  at  that  pew,  the  mothers 
enviously,  when  they  sang  the  lines — 

"  Jerusalem  like  a  city  is 
Compactly  built  together." 

The  first  half  of  the  service  had  been  gone 
through  on  this  particular  Sunday  without  any- 
thing remarkable  happening.  It  was  at  the  end 
of  the  psalm  which  preceded  the  sermon  that 
Sanders  Elshioner,  who  sat  near  the  door,  lowered 
his  head  until  it  was  no  higher  than  the  pews, 
and  in  that  attitude,  looking  almost  like  a  four- 
footed  animal,  shpped  out  of  the  church.  In  their 
eagerness  to  be  at  the  sermon  many  of  the  con- 
gregation did  not  notice  him,  and  those  who  did 
put  the  matter  by  in  their  minds  for  future  investi- 
gation. Sam'l,  however,  could  not  take  it  so 
coolly.  From  his  seat  in  the  gallery  he  saw  San- 
ders disappear,  and  his  mind  misgave  him.  With 
the  true  lover's  instinct  he  understood  it  all.  San- 
ders had  been  struck  by  the  fine  turn-out  in  the 
T'nowhead  pew.  Bell  was  alone  at  the  farm. 
What  an  opportunity  to  work  one's  way  up  to  a 
proposal  !  T'nowhead  was  so  overrun  with 
children  that  such  a  chance  seldom  occurred,  ex- 
cept on  a  Sabbath.  Sanders,  doubtless,  was  off 
to  propose,  and  he,  Sam'l,  was  left  behind. 

The  suspense  was  terrible.  Sam'l  and  Sanders 
had  both  known  all  along  that  Bell  would  take 


1 40  A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS. 

the  first  of  the  two  who  asked  her.  Even 
those  who  thought  her  proud  admitted  that  she 
was  modest.  Bitterly  the  weaver  repented  hav- 
ing waited  so  long.  Now  it  was  too  late.  In  ten 
minutes  Sanders  would  be  at  T'nowhead ;  in  an 
hour  all  would  be  over.  Sam'l  rose  to  his  feet  in 
a  daze.  His  mother  pulled  him  down  by  the 
coat-tail,  and  his  father  shook  him,  thinking  he 
was  walking  in  his  sleep.  He  tottered  past  them, 
however,  hurried  up  the  aisle,  which  was  so  nar- 
row that  Dan'l  Ross  could  only  reach  his  seat  by 
walking  sideways,  and  was  gone  before  the 
minister  could  do  more  than  stop  in  the  middle  of 
a  whirl  and  gape  in  horror  after  him. 

A  number  of  the  congregation  felt  that  day  the 
advantage  of  sitting  in  the  laft.  What  was  a 
mystery  to  those  downstairs  was  revealed  to  them. 
From  the  gallery  windows  they  had  a  fine  open 
view  to  the  south  ;  and  as  Sam'l  took  the  common, 
which  was  a  short  cut  through  a  steep  ascent,  to 
T'nowhead,  he  was  never  out  of  their  line  of 
vision.  Sanders  was  not  to  be  seen,  but  they 
guessed  rightly  the  reason  why.  Thinking  he  had 
ample  time,  he  had  gone  round  by  the  main  road 
to  save  his  boots — perhaps  a  little  scared  by  what 
was  coming.  Sam'l's  design  was  to  forestall  him 
by  taking  the  shorter  path  over  the  burn  and  up 
the  commonty. 

It  was  a  race  for  a  wife,  and  several  onlookers 
in  the  gallery  braved  the  minister's  displeasure  to 


AULD  LICH  T  ID  YLS.  1 4 1 

see  who  won.  Those  who  favored  SamTs  suit 
exultantly  saw  him  leap  the  stream,  while  the 
friends  of  Sanders  fixed  their  eyes  on  the  top  of 
the  common  where  it  ran  into  the  road.  Sanders 
must  come  into  sight  there,  and  the  one  who 
reached  this  point  first  would  get  Bell. 

As  Auld  Lichts  do  not  walk  abroad  on  the  Sab- 
bath, Sanders  would  probably  not  be  delayed. 
The  chances  were  in  his  favor.  Had  it  been 
any  other  day  in  the  week  Sam'l  might  have  run. 
So  some  of  the  congregation  in  the  gallery  were 
thinking,  when  suddenly  they  saw  him  bend  low 
and  then  take  to  his  heels.  He  had  caught  sight 
of  Sanders'  head  bobbing  over  the  hedge  that 
separated  the  road  from  the  common,  and  feared 
that  Sanders  might  see  him.  The  congregation 
who  could  crane  their  necks  sufficiently  saw  a 
black  object,  which  they  guessed  to  be  the  carter's 
hat,  crawling  along  the  hedge-top.  For  a  mo- 
ment it  was  motionless,  and  then  it  shot  ahead. 
The  rivals  had  seen  each  other.  It  was  now  a 
hot  race.  Sam'l,  dissembling  no  longer,  clattered 
up  the  common,  becoming  smaller  and  smaller  to 
the  on-lookers  as  he  neared  the  top.  More  than 
one  person  in  the  gallery  almost  rose  to  their  feet 
in  their  excitement.  Sam'l  had  it.  No,  Sanders 
was  in  front.  Then  the  two  figures  disappeared 
from  view.  They  seemed  to  run  into  each  other 
at  the  top  of  the  brae,  and  no  one  could  say  who 
was    first.       Th^    congregation    looked    at  one 


1 42  A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS. 

another.  Some  of  them  perspired.  But  the  min- 
ister held  on  his  course. 

Sam'i  had  just  been  in  time  to  cut  Sanders  out. 
It  was  the  weaver's  saving  that  Sanders  saw  this 
when  his  rival  turned  the  corner ;  for  Sam'l  was 
sadly  blown.  Sanders  took  in  the  situation  and 
gave  in  at  once.  The  last  hundred  yards  of  the 
distance  he  covered  at  his  leisure,  and  when  he 
arrived  at  his  destination  he  did  not  go  in.  It 
was  a  fine  afternoon  for  the  time  of  year,  and  he 
went  round  to  have  a  look  at  the  pig,  about 
which  T'nowhead  was  a  little  sinfully  puffed 
up. 

"Ay,"  said  Sanders,  digging  his  fingers  critic- 
ally into  the  grunting  animal ;    "quite  so." 

"Grumph,"  said  the  pig,  getting  reluctantly  to 
his  feet. 

"Ou,  ay  ;  yes,"  said  Sanders,  thoughtfully. 

Then  he  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  sty,  and 
looked  long  and  silently  at  an  empty  bucket. 
But  whether  his  thoughts  were  of  T'nowhead's 
Bell,  whom  he  had  lost  forever,  or  of  the  food  the 
farmer  fed  his  pig  on,  is  not  known. 

"Lord  preserve's!  Are  ye  no  at  the  kirk.?" 
cried 'Bell,  nearly  dropping  the  baby  as  Sam'l 
broke  into  the  room. 

"  Bell  !"  cried  Sam'l. 

Then  T'nowhead's  Bell  knew  that  her  hour  had 
come. 

"Sam'l,"  she  faltered. 


A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS.  1 43 

"Will  you  hae's,  Bell?"  demanded  Sam'l  glar- 
ing at  her  sheepishly. 

"Ay,"  answered  Bell. 

Sam'l  fell  into  a  chair. 

"Bring's  a  drink  o'  water,  Bell,"  he  said.  But 
Bell  thought  the  occasion  required  milk,  and  there 
was  none  in  the  kitchen.  She  w^ent  out  to  the 
byre,  still  with  the  baby  in  her  arms,  and  saw 
Sanders  Elshioner  sitting  gloomily  on  the  pig-sty. 

"  Weel,  Bell,"  said  Sanders. 

"  I  thocht  ye'd  been  at  the  kirk,  Sanders,"  said 
Bell. 

Then  there  was  a  silence  between  them. 

"Has  Sam'l  speired  ye.  Bell?"  asked  Sanders 
stolidly. 

"Ay,"  said  Bell  again,  and  this  time  there  was 
a  tear  in  her  eye.  Sanders  was  a  little  better  than 
an  "orra  man,"  and  Sam'l  was  a  weaver,  and 
yet — But  it  was  too  late  now.  Sanders  gave  the 
pig  a  vicious  poke  with  a  stick,  and  when  it  had 
ceased  to  grunt.  Bell  was  back  in  the  kitchen. 
She  had  forgotten  about  the  milk,  however,  and 
Sam'l  only  got  water  after  all. 

In  after  days,  when  the  story  of  Bell's  wooing 
was  told,  there  was  some  who  held  that  the  cir- 
cumstances would  have  almost  justified  the  lassie 
in  giving  Sam'l  the  go-by.  But  these  perhaps  for- 
got that  her  other  lover  was  in  the  same  predica- 
ment as  the  accepted  one — that  of  the  two,  in- 
deed, he  was  the  more  to  blame,  for  he  set  off  to 


144  ^  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS. 

T'nowhead  on  the  Sabbath  of  his  own  accord, 
while  Sam'l  only  ran  after  him.  And  then  there 
is  no  one  to  say  for  certain  whether  Bell  heard  of 
her  suitors'  delinquencies  until  Lisbeth's  return 
from  the  kirk.  Sam'l  could  never  remember 
whether  he  told  her,  and  Bell  was  not  sure 
whether,  if  he  did,  she  took  it  in.  Sanders  was 
greatly  in  demand  for  weeks  after  to  tell  what  he 
knew  of  the  affair,  but  though  he  was  twice  asked 
to  tea  to  the  manse  among  the  trees,  and  subjected 
thereafter  to  ministerial  cross-examinations,  this 
is  all  he  told.  He  remained  at  the  pig-sty 
until  Sam'l  left  the  farm,  when  he  joined  him 
at  the  top  of  the  brae,  and  they  went  home  to- 
gether. 

"  It's  yersel,  Sanders,"  said  Sam'l. 

*'  It  is  so,  Sam'l,"  said  Sanders. 

''Very  cauld,"  said  Sam'l. 

''Blawy,"  assented  Sanders. 

After  a  pause — 

*' Sam'l,"  said  Sanders. 

''Ay." 

"I'm  hearin'  ye're  to  be  marrit." 

"Ay." 

"Weel,  Sam'l,  she's  a  snod  bit  lassie." 

"  Thank  ye,"  said  Sam'l. 

"I  had  ance  a  kin'  o'  notion  o'  Bell  mysel/' 
continued  Sanders. 

"Ye  had?" 

"Yes,  Sam'l ;  but  I  thocht  better  o't." 


A  ULD  LICHT  ID  YLS.  145 

"  Hoo  d'ye  mean  ? "  asked  Sam'l,  a  little  anx- 
iously. 

"Weel,  Sam'l,  mairitch  is  a  terrible  respon- 
sibeelity." 

**  It  is  so,"  said  Sam'l,  wincing. 

"An'  no  the  thing  to  tak' up  withoot conseeder- 
ation." 

**But  it's  a  blessed  and  honorable  state,  San- 
ders ;  yeVe  heard  the  minister  on't." 

"They  say,"  continued  the  relentless  Sanders, 
"'at  the  minister  doesna  get  on  sair  wi'  the  wife 
himsel.'" 

"So  they  do, "  cried  Sam'l,  with  a  sinking  at  the 
heart. 

"I've  been  telt,"  Sanders  went  on,  "'at  gin  ye 
can  get  the  upper  han'  o'  the  wife  for  a  while  at 
first,  there's  the  mair  chance  o'  a  harmonious 
exeestence. " 

"Bell's  no  the  lassie,"  said  Sam'l  appealingly, 
"  to  thwart  her  man." 

Sanders  smiled. 

"  D'ye  think  she  is,  Sanders  ? " 

"Weel,  Sam'l,  I  d'na  want  to  fluster  ye,  but 
she's  been  ower  lang  wi'  Lisbeth  Fargus  no  to  hae 
learnt  her  ways.  An  a'body  kens  what  a  life 
T'nowhead  has  wi'  her." 

"Guidsake,  Sanders,  hoo  did  ye  no  speak  o* 
this  afore  ? " 

"  I  thocht  ye  kent  o't,  Sam'l." 

They  had  now  reached  the  square,  and  the  U.  P. 
10 


1 46  A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS, 

kirk  was  coming  out.  The  Auld  Licht  kirk  would 
be  half  an  hour  yet. 

"But,  Sanders,"  said  Sam'l,  brightening  up, 
**ye  was  on  yer  wy  to  spier  her  yersel.'  " 

**  I  was,  Sam'l,"  said  Sanders,  **and  I  canna 
but  be  thankfu'  ye  was  ower  quick  for's." 

"  Gin't  hadna  been  you,"  said  Sam'l,  "I  wid 
never  hae  thocht  o't. " 

"  I'm  say  in'  naething  again  Bell,"  pursued  the 
other,  **  but,  man,  Sam'l,  a  body  should  be  mair 
deleeberate  in  a  thing  o'  the  kind." 

"It  was  michty  hurried,"  said  Sam'l,  wo- 
fully. 

"It's  a  serious  thing  to  spier  a  lassie,"  said 
Sanders. 

"It's  an  awfu'  thing,"  said  Sam'l. 

"But  we'll  hope  for  the  best,"  added  Sanders  in 
a  hopeless  voice. 

They  were  close  to  the  Tenements  now,  and 
Sam'l  looked  as  if  he  were  on  his  way  to  be 
hanged. 

"Sam'l!" 

"Ay,  Sanders." 

"Did  ye — did  ye  kiss  her,  Sam'l? " 

"Na." 

"Hoo?" 

"There  was  verra  little  time,  Sanders." 

"Half  an  'oor,"  said  Sanders. 

"Was  there?  Man,  Sanders,  to  tell  ye  the 
truth,  I  never  thocht  o't." 


AULD  LICHT  IDYLS. 


147 


Then  the  soul  of  Sanders  Elshioner  was  filled 
with  contempt  for  Sam'l  Dickie. 

The  scandal  blew  over.  At  first  it  was  ex- 
pected that  the  minister  would  interfere  to  prevent 
the  union,  but  beyond  intimating  from  the  pulpit 
that  the  souls  of  Sabbath-breakers  were  beyond 
praying  for,  and  then  praying  for  Sam'l  and 
Sanders  at  great  length,  with  a  word  thrown  in 
for  Bell,  he  let  things  take  their  course.  Some 
said  it  was  because  he  was  always  frightened  lest 
his  young  men  should  intermarry  with  other  de- 
nominations, but  Sanders  explained  it  differently 
to  Sam'l. 

"  I  hav'na  a  word  to  say  agin  the  minister,"  he 
said  ;  "  they're  gran'  prayers,  but,  Sam'l,  he's  a 
mairit  man  himsel.' " 

"  He's  a'  the  better  for  that,  Sanders,  isna  he  ? " 

"Do  ye  no  see,"  asked  Sanders  compassion- 
ately, '"at  he's  try  in'  to  mak'  the  best  o't  ?  " 

'*0h,  Sanders,  man  !  "  said  Sam'l. 

"  Cheer  up,  Sam'l,"  said  Sanders,  ''  it'll  sune  be 
ower. " 

Their  having  been  rival  suitors  had  not  inter- 
fered with  their  friendship.  On  the  contrary,  while 
they  had  hitherto  been  mere  acquaintances,  they 
became  inseparables  as  the  weddmg-day  drew 
near.-  It  was  noticed  that  they  had  much  to  say 
to  each  other,  and  that  when  they  could  not  get  a 
room  to  themselves  they  wandered  about  together 
in  the  church-yard.     When  Sam'l  had  anything  to 


148  A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YtS. 

tell  Bell  he  sent  Sanders  to  tell  it,  and  Sanders  did 
as  he  was  bid.  There  was  nothing  that  he  would 
not  have  done  for  Sam'l. 

The  more  obliging  Sanders  was,  however,  the 
sadder  Sam'l  grew.  He  never  laughed  now  on 
Saturdays,  and  sometimes  his  loom  was  silent 
half  the  day.  Sam'l  felt  that  Sanders'  was  the 
kindness  of  a  friend  for  a  dying  man. 

It  was  to  be  a  penny-wedding,  and  Lisbeth 
Fargus  said  it  was  delicacy  that  made  Sam'l 
superintend  the  fitting-up  of  the  barn  by  deputy. 
Once  he  came  to  see  it  in  person,  but  he  looked 
so  ill  that  Sanders  had  to  see  him  home.  This 
was  on  the  Thursday  afternoon,  and  the  wedding 
was  fixed  for  Friday. 

"Sanders,  Sanders,"  said  Sam'l,  in  a  voice 
strangely  unlike  his  own,  "  it'll  a'  be  owerby  this 
time  the  morn. " 

"It  will,"  said  Sanders. 

"If  I  had  only  kent  her  langer,"  continued 
Sam'l. 

"It  wid  hae  been  safer,"  said  Sanders. 

"Did  ye  see  the  yallow  floor  in  Bell's  bonnet  ?  " 
asked  the  accepted  swain. 

"Ay,"  said  Sanders  reluctantly. 

"I'm  dootin' — I'm  sair  dootin'  she's  but  a flichty, 
light-hearted  crittur  after  a'." 

"I  had  ay  my  suspeecions  o't,"  said  Sanders. 

"Ye  hae  kent  her  langer  than  me,"  said  Sam'l. 

"  Yes/' said  Sanders,    "but  there's  nae  gettin' 


A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS.  149 

at  the  heart  o*  women.  Man,  Sam'l,  they're  des- 
perate cunnin'." 

*'Vm.  dootin't ;  I'm  sair  dootin't." 

*'  It'll  be  a  warnin'  to  ye,  Sam'l,  no  to  be  in  sic 
a  hurry  i'  the  futur,"  said  Sanders. 

Sam'l  groaned. 

**  Ye'll  be  gaein  up  to  the  manse  to  arrange  wi' 
the  minister  the  morn's  mornin',''  continued 
Sanders,  in  a  subdued  voice. 

Sam'l  looked  wistfully  at  his  friend. 

"I  canna  do't,  Sanders,"  he  said,  **I  canna 
do't." 

**  Ye  maun,"  said  Sanders. 

'*  It's  easy  to  speak,"  retorted  Sam'l  bitterly. 

"We  have  a'  oor troubles,  Sam'l,"  said  Sanders 
soothingly,  "  an'  every  man  maun  bear  his  ain 
burdens.  Johnny  Davie's  wife's  dead,  an'  he's  no 
repinin'." 

** Ay,"  said  Sam'l,  "but  a  death's  no  a  mair- 
itch.     We  hae  haen  deaths  in  our  family  too." 

"It  may  a'  be  for  the  best,"  added  Sanders, 
"  an'  there  wid  be  a  michty  tulk  i'  the  hale  coun- 
try-side gin  ye  didna  ging  to  the  minister  Hke  a 
man." 

"  I  maun  hae  langer  to  think  o't,"  said  Sam'l. 

"Bell's  mairitch  is  the  morn,"  said  Sanders 
decisively. 

Sam'l  i^lancpd  up  with  a  wild  look  in  his  eyes. 

''Sanders  !  "  he  cried. 

"Sam'l!" 


150  AULD  LIGHT  IDYLS. 

"Ye  hae  been  a  guid  friend  to  me,  Sanders,  in 
this  sair  affliction." 

''Nothing  ava,"  said  Sanders;  "dount  men- 
tionU" 

"But,  Sanders,  ye  canna  deny  but  what  your 
rinnin'  oot  o'  the  kirk  that  awfu'  day  was  at  the 
bottom  o'd  a'.'* 

"It  was  so,"  said  Sanders  bravely. 

"An'  ye  used  to  be  fond  o'  Bell,  Sanders." 

"I  dinna  deny't." 

"Sanders,  laddie,"  said  Sam'l,  bending  for- 
ward and  speaking  in  a  wheedling  voice,  "I  aye 
thocht  it  was  you  she  likit. " 

"I  had  some  sic  idea  mysel',"  said  Sanders. 

"Sanders,  I  canna  think  to  pairt  twa  fowk  sae 
weel  suited  to  ane  anither  as  you  an'  Bell." 

"Canna  ye,  Sam'l?" 

"She  widmak  ye  a  guid  wife,  Sanders.  I  hae 
studied  her  weel,  and  she's  a  thrifty,  douce, 
clever  lassie.  Sanders,  there's  no  the  like  o'  her. 
Mony  a  time, Sanders, I  hae  said  to  mysel',  '  There's 
a  lass  ony  man  micht  be  prood  to  tak.'  A'body 
says  the  same,  Sanders.  There's  nae  risk  ava, 
man  :  nane  to  speak  o'.  Tak  her,  laddie,  tak 
her,  Sanders  ;  it's  a  grand  chance,  Sanders. 
She's  yours  for  the  spierin'.  I'll  gie  her  up, 
Sanders." 

"  Will  ye,  though  .? "  said  Sanders. 

"What  d'ye  think  ?  "  asked  Sam'l. 

"  If  ye  wid  rayther,"  said  Sanders  politely. 


A  ULD  LICHT  ib  YLS.  151 

**  There's  my  han'  on't,"  said  Sam'l.  **  Bless 
ye,  Sanders  ;  yeVe  been  a  true  frien'  to  me." 

Then  they  shook  hands  for  the  first  time  in 
their  lives  ;  and  soon  afterward  Sanders  struck 
up  the  brae  to  T'nowhead. 

Next  morning  Sanders  Elshioner,  who  had 
been  very  busy  the  night  before,  put  on  his  Sab- 
bath clothes  and  strolled  up  to  the  manse. 

*'But — but  where  is  Sam'l  ?"  asked  the  min- 
ister; **  I  must  see  himself." 

"  It's  a  new  arrangement."  said  Sanders. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Sanders  ? " 

**  Bell's  to  marry  me,"  explained  Sanders. 

**But — but  what  does  Sam'l  say?*' 

"He's  willinV  said  Sanders. 

'* And  Bell?" 

*' She's  willin',  too.     She  prefers't." 

"It  is  unusual,"  said  the  minister. 

"It's  a'  richt,"  said  Sanders. 

"Well,  you  know  best,"  said  the  minister. 

"You  see  the  hoose  was  taen,  at  ony  rate," 
continued  Sanders.  "An'  I'll  juist  ging  in  till't 
instead  o'  Sam'l." 

"Quite  so." 

"An'  I  cudna  think  to  disappoint  the  lassie." 

"Your  sentiments  do  you  credit,  Sanders,"  said 
the  minister  ;  "  but  I  hope  you  do  not  enter  upon 
the  blessed  state  of  matrimony  without  full  con- 
sideration of  its  responsibilities.  It  is  a  serious 
business,  marriage." 


1^2  A ULb  LIGHT  ID  YLS. 

''  It's  a'  that,"  said  Sanders,  "  but  Fm  willin'  to 
Stan'  the  risk. " 

So,  as  soon  as  it  could  be  done,  Sanders  El- 
shioner  took  to  wife  T'nowhead's  Bell,  and  I  re- 
member seeing  Sam'i  Dickie  trying  to  dance  at 
the  penny  wedding. 

Years  afterward  it  was  said  in  Thrums  that 
Sam'l  had  treated  Bell  badly,  but  he  was  never 
sure  about  it  himself. 

*'Itwas  a  near  thing — a  michty  near  thing," 
he  admitted  in  the  square. 

''They  say,"  some  other  weaver  would  remark, 
"  'at  it  was  you  Bell  liked  best. " 

"Id'nakin,"  Sam'l  w^ould  reply,  "but  there's 
nae  doot  the  lassie  was  fell  fond  o'  me.  Ou,  a 
mere  passin'  fancy  's  ye  micht  say." 


AULD  UCHT  JDYLS,  153 


CHAPTER  IX. 

DAVIT   LUNAN's   political   REMINISCENCES. 

When  an  election-day  comes  round  now,  it 
takes  me  back  to  the  time  of  1832.  I  would  be 
eight  or  ten  years  old  at  that  time.  James  Strach- 
an  was  at  the  door  by  five  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing in  his  Sabbath  clothes,  by  arrangement.  We 
was  to  go  up  to  the  hill  to  see  them  building  the 
bonfire.  Moreover,  there  was  word  that  Mr. 
Scrimgour  was  to  be  there  tossing  pennies,  just 
like  at  a  marriage.  I  was  awakened  before  that 
by  my  mother  at  the  pans  and  bowls.  I  have 
always  associated  elections  since  that  time  with 
jelly-making ;  for  just  as  my  mother  would  fill 
the  cups  and  tankers  and  bowls  with  jelly  to 
save  cans,  she  was  emptying  the  pots  and  pans 
to  make  way  for  the  ale  and  porter.  James  and 
me  was  to  help  to  carry  it  home  from  the  square 
— him  in  the  pitcher  and  me  in  a  flagon,  because 
I  was  silly  for  my  age  and  not  strong  in  the 
arms. 

It  was  a  very  blowy  morning,  though  the  rain 
kept  off,  and  what  part  of  the  bonfire  had  been 
buil't  already  was  found  scattered  to  the  winds. 


1 54  A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS. 

Before  we  rose  a  great  mass  of  folks  was  getting 
the  barrels  and  things  together  again  ;  but  some 
of  them  was  never  recovered,  and  suspicion 
pointed  to  William  Geddes,  it  being  well  known 
that  William  would  not  hesitate  to  carry  off  any- 
thing if  unobserved.  More  by  token  Chirsty 
Lamby  had  seen  him  rolling  home  a  barrowful  of 
firewood  early  in  the  morning,  her  having  risen 
to  hold  cold  water  in  her  mouth,  being  down 
with  the  toothache.  When  we  got  up  to  the  hill 
everybody  was  making  for  the  quarry,  which  be- 
ing more  sheltered  was  now  thought  to  be  a  bet- 
ter place  for  the  bonfire.  The  masons  had  struck 
work,  it  being  a  general  holiday  in  the  whole  coun- 
tryside. There  was  a  great  commotion  of  peo- 
ple, all  fine  dressed  and  mostly  with  Glengarry 
bonnets  ;  and  me  and  James  was  well  acquaint 
with  them,  though  mostly  weavers  and  the  like 
and  not  my  father's  equal.  Mr.  Scrimgour  was 
not  there  himself ;  but  there  was  a  small  active 
body  in  his  room  as  tossed  the  money  for  him 
fair  enough ;  though  not  so  liberally  as  was  ex- 
pected, being  mostly  ha'pence  where  pennies  was 
looked  for.  Such  was  not  my  father's  opinion,  and 
him  and  a  few  others  only  had  a  vote.  He  con- 
sidered it  was  a  waste  of  money  giving  to  them 
that  had  no  vote  and  so  taking  out  of  other  folks' 
mouths ;  but  the  little  man  said  it  kept  everybody 
in  good-humor  and  made  Mr.  Scrimgour  popular. 
He  was  an  extraordinary  affable  man  and  very 


A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS.  155 

spirity,  running  about  to  waste  no  time  in  walking, 
and  gave  me  a  shilling,  saying  to  me  to  be  a 
truthful  boy  and  tell  my  father.  He  did  not 
give  .James  anything,  him  being  an  orphan,  but 
clapped  his  head  and  said  he  was  a  fine  boy. 

The  captain  was  to  vote  for  the  bill  if  he  got  in, 
the  which  he  did.  It  was  the  captain  was  to  give 
the  ale  and  the  porter  in  the  square  like  a  true 
gentleman.  My  father  gave  a  kind  of  laugh  when 
I  let  him  see  my  shilling,  and  said  he  would  keep 
care  of  it  for  me  ;  and  sorry  I  was  I  let  him  get 
it,  me  never  seeing  the  face  of  it  again  to  this 
day.  Me  and  James  was  much  annoyed  with  the 
women,  especially  Kitty  Davie,  always  push- 
ing in  when  there  was  tossing,  and  tearing  the 
very  ha'pence  out  of  our  hands  ;  us  not  caring  so 
much  about  the  money,  but  humiliated  to  see 
women  mixing  up  in  politics.  By  the  time  the 
topmost  barrel  was  on  the  bonfire  there  was  a 
great  smell  of  whiskey  in  the  quarry,  it  being  a 
confined  place.  My  father  had  been  against  the 
bonfire  being  in  the  quarry,  arguing  that  the  wind 
on  the  hill  would  have  carried  off  the  smell  of  the 
whiskey  ;  but  Peter  Tosh  said  they  did  not  want 
the  smell  carried  off;  it  would  be  agreeable  to 
the  masons  for  weeks  to  come.  Except  among 
the  women  there  was  no  fighting  nor  wrangling 
at  the  quarry,  but  all  in  fine  spirits. 

I  misremember  now  whether  it  was  Mr.  Scrim- 
gour  or  the  captain  that  took  the  fancy  to  my 


156  A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS. 

father's  pigs ;  but  it  was  this  day,  at  any  rate, 
that  the  captain  sent  him  the  game-cock.  Which- 
ever one  it  was  that  fancied  the  litter  of  pigs, 
nothing  would  content  him  but  to  buy  them, 
which  he  did  at  thirty  shiUings  each,  being  the 
best  bargain  ever  my  father  made.  Nevertheless 
I'm  thinking  he  was  windier  of  the  cock.  The 
captain,  who  was  a  local  man  when  not  with  his 
regiment,  had  the  grandest  collection  of  fighting- 
cocks  in  the  county,  and  sometimes  came  into  the 
town  to  try  them  against  the  town  cocks.  I  mind 
well  the  large  wicker  cage  in  which  they  were 
conveyed  from  place  to  place,  and  never  without 
the  captain  near  at  hand.  My  father  had  a  cock 
that  beat  all  the  other  town  cocks  at  the  cock- 
fight at  our  school,  which  was  superintended  by 
the  elder  of  the  kirk  to  see  fair  play  ;  but  the 
which  died  of  its  wounds  the  next  day  but  one. 
This  was  a  great  grief  to  my  father,  it  having 
been  challenged  to  fight  the  captain's  cock. 
Therefore  it  was  very  considerate  of  the  captain 
to  make  my  father  a  present  of  his  bird  ;  father,  in 
compliment  to  him,  changing  its  name  from  the 
''Deil"  to  the  ''Captain." 

During  the  forenoon,  and  I  think  until  well  on 
in  the  day,  James  and  me  was  busy  with  the 
pitcher  and  the  flagon.  The  proceedings  in  the 
square,  however,  was  not  so  well  conducted  as 
in  the  quarry,  many  of  the  folk  there  assembled 
showing  a  mean  and  grasping  spirit.     The  cap- 


A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS.  157 

tain  had  given  orders  that  there  was  to  be  no  stint 
of  ale  and  porter,  and  neither  there  was  ;  but 
much  of  it  lost  through  hastiness.  Great  barrels 
was  hurled  into  the  middle  of  the  square,  where 
the  country  wives  sat  with  their  eggs  and  butter 
on  market-day,  and  was  quickly  stove  in  with  an 
axe  or  paving-stone  or  whatever  came  handy. 
Sometimes  they  would  break  into  the  barrel  at 
different  points  ;  and  then,  when  they  tilted  it  up 
to  get  the  ale  out  at  one  hole,  it  gushed  out  at  the 
bottom  till  the  square  was  flooded.  My  mother 
was  fair  disgusted  when  told  by  me  and  James  of 
the  waste  of  good  liquor.  It  is  gospel  truth  I 
speak  when  I  say  I  mind  well  of  seeing  Singer 
Davie  catching  the  porter  in  a  pan  as  it  ran  down 
the  sire,  and  when  the  pan  was  full  to  overflow- 
ing, putting  his  mouth  to  the  stream  and  drinking 
till  he  was  as  full  as  the  pan.  Most  of  the  men, 
however,  stuck  to  the  barrels,  the  drink  running 
in  the  street  being  ale  and  porter  mixed,  and  left 
it  to  the  women  and  the  young  folk  to  do  the 
carrying.  Susy  M'Queen  brought  as  many  pans 
as  she  could  collect  on  a  barrow,  and  was  filling 
them  all  with  porter,  rejecting  the  ale  ;  but  indig- 
nation was  aroused  against  her,  and  as  fast  as  she 
filled  the  others  emptied. 

My  father  scorned  to  go  to  the  square  to  drink 
ale  and  porter  with  the  crowd,  having  the  election 
on  his  mind  and  him  to  vote.  Nevertheless  he 
instructed  me  and  James  to  keep  up  a  brisk  trade 


158  A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS. 

with  the  pans,  and  run  back  across  the  gardens  in 
case  we  met  dishonest  folk  in  the  streets  who 
might  drink  the  ale.  Also,  said  my  father,  we 
was  to  let  the  excesses  of  our  neighbors  be  a 
warning  in  sobriety  to  us  ;  enough  being  as  good 
as  a  feast  except  when  you  can  store  it  up  for  the 
winter.  By  and  by  my  mother  thought  it  was 
not  safe  me  being  in  the  streets  with  so  many 
wild  men  about,  and  would  have  sent  James  him- 
self, him  being  an  orphan  and  hardier  ;  but  this  I 
did  not  like,  but,  running  out,  did  not  come  back 
for  long  enough.  There  is  no  doubt  that  the 
music  was  to  blame  for  firing  the  men's  blood, 
and  the  result  most  disgraceful  fighting  with  no 
object  in  view.  There  was  three  fiddlers  and  two 
at  the  flute,  most  of  them  blind,  but  not  the  less 
dangerous  on  that  account ;  and  they  kept  the 
town  in  a  ferment,  even  playing  the  country-folk 
home  to  the  farms,  followed  by  bands  of  towns- 
folk. They  were  a  quarrelsome  set,  the  plough- 
men and  others ;  and  it  was  generally  admitted 
in  the  town  that  their  overbearing  behavior  was 
responsible  for  the  fights.  I  mind  them  being 
driven  out  of  the  square,  stones  flying  thick  ;  also 
some  stand-up  fights  with  sticks,  and  others  fair 
enough  with  fists.  The  worst  fight  I  did  not  see. 
It  took  place  in  a  field.  At  first  it  was  only  be- 
tween two  who  had  been  miscalling  one  another  ; 
but  there  was  many  looking  on,  and  when  the 
town  man  was  like  getting  the  worst  of  it  the 


AULD  LIGHT  IDYLS. 


'59 


others  set  to,  and  a  most  heathenish  fray  with  no 
sense  in  it  ensued.  One  man  had  his  arm  broken. 
I  mind  Hobart  the  bellman  going  about  ringing 
the  bell  and  telling  all  persons  to  get  within 
doors  ;  but  little  attention  was  paid  to  him,  it 
being  notorious  that  Snecky  had  had  a  fight  earlier 
in  the  day  himself. 

When  James  was  fighting  in  the  field,  according 
to  his  own  account,  I  had  the  honor  of  dining 
with  the  electors  who  voted  for  the  captain,  him 
paying  all  expenses.  It  was  a  lucky  accident  my 
mother  sending  me  to  the  town-house,  where  the 
dinner  came  off,  to  try  to  get  my  father  home  at 
a  decent  hour,  me  having  a  remarkable  power 
over  him  when  in  liquor,  but  at  no  other  time. 
They  were  very  jolly,  however,  and  insisted  on 
my  drinking  the  captain's  health  and  eating  more 
than  was  safe.  My  father  got  it  next  day  from 
my  mother  for  this  ;  and  so  would  I  myself,  but 
it  was  several  days  before  I  left  my  bed,  com- 
pletely knocked  up  as  I  was  with  the  excite- 
ment and  one  thing  or  another.  The  bonfire, 
which  was  built  to  celebrate  the  election  of  Mr. 
Scrimgour,  v/as  set  ablaze,  though  I  did  not  see 
it,  in  honor  of  the  election  of  the  captain  ;  it 
being  thought  a  pity  to  lose  it,  as  no  doubt  it 
would  have  been.  That  is  about  all  I  remember 
of  the  celebrated  election  of  '32  when  the  Reform 
Bill  was  passed. 


l6o  A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  VLS 


CHAPTER  X. 

A   VERY   OLD    FAMILY. 

They  were  a  very  old  family  with  whom  Snecky 
Hobart,  the  bellman,  lodged.  Their  favorite  dis- 
sipation, when  their  looms  had  come  to  rest,  was 
a  dander  through  the  kirkyard.  They  dressed  for 
it :  the  three  young  ones  in  their  rusty  blacks ; 
the  patriarch  in  his  old  blue  coat,  velvet  knee- 
breeches,  and  broad  blue  bonnet ;  and  often  of  an 
evening  I  have  met  them  moving  from  grave  to 
grave.  By  this  time  the  old  man  was  nearly 
ninety,  and  the  young  ones  averaged  sixty.  They 
read  out  the  inscriptions  on  the  tombstones  in  a 
solemn  drone,  and  their  father  added  his  reminis- 
cences. He  never  failed  them.  Since  the  begin- 
ning of  the  century  he  had  not  missed  a  funeral, 
and  his  children  felt  that  he  was  a  great  example. 
Sire  and  sons  returned  from  the  cemetery  invig- 
orated for  their  daily  labors.  If  one  of  them 
happened  to  start  a  dozen  yards  behind  the 
others,  he  never  thought  of  making  up  the  dis- 
tance. If  his  foot  struck  against  a  stone,  he  came 
to  a  dead  stop  ;  when  he  discovered  that  he  had 
stopped,  he  set  off  again. 


AULD  LICHT  IDYLS.  i6i 

A  high  wall  shut  off  this  old  family's  house  and 
garden  from  the  clatter  of  Thrums,  a  wall  that 
gave  Snecky  some  trouble  before  he  went  to  live 
within  it.  I  speak  from  personal  knowledge. 
One  spring  morning,  before  the  schoolhouse  was 
built,  I  was  assisting  the  patriarch  to  divest  the 
gaunt  garden  pump  of  its  winter  suit  of  straw.  I 
was  taking  a  drink,  I  remember,  my  palm  over 
the  mouth  of  the  wooden  spout  and  my  mouth  at 
the  gimlet-hole  above,  when  a  leg  appeared  above 
the  corner  of  the  wall  against  which  the  hen- 
house was  built.  Two  hands  followed,  clutching 
desperately  at  the  uneven  stones.  Then  the  leg 
worked  as  if  it  were  turning  a  grindstone,  and 
next  moment  Snecky  was  sitting  breathlessly  on 
the  dyke.  From  this  to  the  hen-house,  whose 
roof  was  of  "divets,"  the  descent  was  compar- 
atively easy,  and  a  slanting  board  allowed  the 
daring  bellman  to  slide  thence  to  the  ground.  He 
had  come  on  business,  and  having  talked  it  over 
slowly  with  the  old  man  he  turned  to  depart. 
Though  he  was  a  genteel  man,  I  heard  him  sigh 
heavily  as,  with  the  remark,  "Ay,  weel,  I'll  be 
movin'  again,"  he  began  to  rescale  the  wall.  The 
patriarch,  twisted  round  the  pump,  made  no  reply, 
so  I  ventured  to  suggest  to  the  bellman  that  he 
might  find  the  gate  easier.  "Is  there  a  gate?" 
said  Snecky,  in  surprise,  at  the  resources  of  civiliza- 
tion. I  pointed  it  out  to  him,  and  he  went  his 
way  chuckling.     The  old  man  to!d  me  that  he 

XX 


l62  A t/LD  LICtiT  IDVLS. 

had  sometimes  wondered  at  Snecky's  mode  of 
approach,  but  it  had  not  struck  him  to  say  any- 
thing. Afterward,  when  the  bellman  took  up  his 
abode  there,   they  discussed  the  matter  heavily. 

Hobart  inherited  both  his  bell  and  his  nick- 
name from  his  father,  who  was  not  a  native  of 
Thrums.  He  came  from  some  distant  part  where 
the  people  speak  of  snecking  the  door,  meaning 
shut  it.  In  Thrums  the  word  used  is  steek,  and 
sneck  seemed  to  the  inhabitants  so  droll  and 
ridiculous  that  Hobart  got  the  name  of  Snecky. 
His  son  left  Thrums  at  the  age  of  ten  for  the 
distant  farm  of  Tirl,  and  did  not  return  until  the 
old  bellman's  death,  twenty  years  afterward  ; 
but  the  first  remark  he  overheard  on  entering  the 
kirk-wynd  was  a  conjecture  flung  across  the  street 
by  a  gray-haired  crone,  that  he  would  be  "little 
Snecky  come  to  bury  auld  Snecky." 

The  father  had  a  reputation  in  his  day  for 
* '  crying  "  crimes  he  was  suspected  of  having  com- 
mitted himself,  but  the  Snecky  I  knew  had  too 
high  a  sense  of  his  own  importance  for  that.  On 
great  occasions,  such  as  the  loss  of  little  Davy 
Dundas,  or  when  a  tattie  roup  had  to  be  cried,  he 
was  even  offensively  inflated ;  but  ordinary  an- 
nouncements, such  as  the  approach  of  a  flying 
stationer,  the  roup  of  a  deceased  weaver's  loom, 
or  the  arrival  in  Thrums  of  a  cart-load  of  fine 
*'  kebec  "  cheeses,  he  treated  as  the  merest  trifles. 
I  see  still  the  bent  legs  of  the  snuffy  old  man 


AULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS.  163 

straightening  to  the  tinkle  of  his  bell,  and  the 
smirk  with  which  he  let  the  curious  populace 
gather  round  him.  In  one  hand  he  ostentatiously- 
displayed  the  paper  on  which  what  he  had  to  cry 
was  written,  but,  like  the  minister,  he  scorned  to 
**  read."  With  the  bell  carefully  tucked  under  his 
oxter  he  gave  forth  his  news  in  a  rasping  voice 
that  broke  now  and  again  into  a  squeal.  Though 
Scotch  in  his  unofficial  conversation,  he  was  be- 
lieved to  deliver  himself  on  public  occasions  in 
the  finest  English.  When  trotting  from  place  to 
place  with  his  news  he  carried  his  bell  by  the 
tongue  as  cautiously  as  if  it  were  a  flagon  of  milk. 
Snecky  never  allowed  himself  to  degenerate 
into  a  mere  machine.  His  proclamations  were 
provided  by  those  who  employed  him,  but  his 
soul  was  his  own.  Having  cried  a  potato  roup, 
he  would  sometimes  add  a  word  of  warning, 
such  as,  "I  wudna  advise  ye,  lads,  to  hae  01; *" 
thing  to  do  wi'  thae  tatties ;  they're  diseased. " 
Once,  just  before  the  cattle  market,  he  was  sent 
round  by  a  local  laird  to  announce  that  any  drover 
found  taking  the  short  cut  to  the  hill  through 
the  grounds  of  Muckle  Plowy,  would  be  prose- 
cuted to  the  utmost  limits  of  the  law.  The  peo- 
ple were  aghast.  *' Hoots,  lads,"  Snecky  said; 
"dinnafash  yoursel's.  It's  juist  a  haver  o' the 
g^ieve's."  One  of  Hobart's  ways  of  striking  ter- 
ror into  evil-doers  was  to  announce,  when  crying 
a  crime,  that  he  himself  knew  perfectly  well  who 


164  A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS. 

the  culprit  was.  "  I  see  him  brawly,"  he  would 
say,  **  standing  afore  me,  an'  if  he  disna  instantly 
mak'  retribution,  I  am  determined  this  very  day 
to  mak'  a  public  example  of  him." 

Before  the  time  of  the  Burke  and  Hare  mur- 
ders, Snecky's  father  was  sent  round  Thrums  to 
proclaim  the  startling  news  that  a  grave  in  the 
kirk-yard  had  been  tampered  with.  The  "  resur- 
rectionist "  scare  was  at  its  height  then,  and  the 
patriarch,  who  was  one  of  the  men  in  Thrums 
paid  to  watch  new  graves  in  the  night-time,  has 
often  told  the  story.  The  town  was  in  a  ferment 
as  the  news  spread,  and  there  were  fierce,  sus- 
picious men  among  Hobart's  hearers  who  already 
had  the  rifler  of  graves  in  their  eye. 

He  was  a  man  who  worked  for  the  farmers 
when  they  required  an  extra  hand,  and  loafed 
about  the  square  when  they  could  do  without 
^-'^Ti.  No  one  had  a  good  word  for  him,  and 
lately  he  had  been  flush  of  money.  That  was 
sufficient.  There  was  a  rush  of  angry  men 
through  the  "  pend  "  that  led  to  his  habitation, 
and  he  was  dragged,  panting  and  terrified,  to 
the  kirk-yard  before  he  understood  what  it  all 
meant.  To  the  grave  they  hurried  him,  and 
almost  without  a  word  handed  him  a  spade. 
The  whole  town  gathered  round  the  spot — a 
sullen  crowd,  the  women  only  breaking  the  si- 
lence with  their  sobs,  and  the  children  clinging 
to  their  gowns.      The  suspected  resurrectionist 


A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS.  1 65 

understood  what  was  wanted  of  him,  and,  fling- 
ing off  his  jacket,  began  to  reopen  the  grave. 
Presently  the  spade  struck  upon  wood,  and  by 
and  by  part  of  the  coffin  came  in  view.  That 
was  nothing,  for  the  resurrectionists  had  a  way  of 
breaking  the  coffin  at  one  end  and  drawing  out 
the  body  with  tongs.  The  digger  knew  this.  He 
broke  the  boards  with  the  spade  and  revealed  an 
arm.  The  people  convinced,  he  dropped  the  arm 
savagely,  leaped  out  of  the  grave  and  went  his 
way,  leaving  them  to  shovel  back  the  earth  them- 
selves. 

There  was  humor  in  the  old  family  as  well  as 
in  their  lodger.  I  found  this  out  slowly.  They 
used  to  gather  round  their  peat  fire  in  the  even- 
ing, after  the  poultry  had  gone  to  sleep  on  the 
kitchen  rafters,  and  take  off  their  neighbors. 
None  of  them  ever  laughed  ;  but  their  neighbors 
did  afford  them  subject  for  gossip,  and  the  old 
man  was  very  sarcastic  over  other  people's  old- 
fashioned  ways.  When  one  of  the  family  wanted 
to  go  out,  he  did  it  gradually.  He  would  be 
sitting  "into  the  fire"  browning  his  corduroy 
trousers,  and  he  would  get  up  slowly.  Then  he 
gazed  solemnly  before  him  for  a  time,  and  after 
that,  if  you  watched  him  narrowly,  you  would 
see  that  he  was  really  moving  to  the  door.  An- 
other member  of  the  family  took  the  vacant  seat 
with  the  same  precautions.  Will'um,  the  eldest, 
has  a  gun,  which  customarily  stands  behind  the 


i66  A  ulD  LictiT  Id  Yls. 

old  eight-day  clock  ;  and  he  takes  it  with  him  to 
the  garden  to  shoot  the  blackbirds.  Long  before 
Will'um  is  ready  to  let  fly,  the  blackbirds  have 
gone  away ;  and  so  the  gun  is  never,  never 
fired  ;  but  there  is  a  determined  look  on  Will'um's 
face  when  he  returns  from  the  garden. 

In  the  stormy  days  of  his  youth  the  old  man 
had  been  a  **  Black  Nib."  The  Black  Nibs  were 
the  persons  who  agitated  against  the  French 
war ;  and  the  public  feeling  against  them  ran 
strong  and  deep.  In  Thrums  the  local  Black 
Nibs  were  burned  in  effigy,  and  whenever  they 
put  their  heads  out  of  doors  they  risked  being 
stoned.  Even  where  the  authorities  were  un- 
prejudiced, they  were  helpless  to  interfere ;  and 
as  a  rule  they  were  as  bitter  against  the  Black 
Nibs  as  the  populace  themselves.  Once  the 
patriarch  was  running  through  the  street  with  a 
score  of  the  enemy  at  his  heels,  and  the  bailie, 
opening  his  window,  shouted  to  them  r  "Stane 
the  Black  Nib  oot  o'  the  toon  !  " 

When  the  patriarch  was  a  young  man  he  was  a 
follower  of  pleasure.  This  is  the  one  thing  about 
him  that  his  family  have  never  been  able  to 
understand.  A  solemn  stroll  through  the  kirk- 
yard  was  not  sufficient  relaxation  in  those  riotous 
times,  after  a  hard  day  at  the  loom ;  and  he 
rarely  lost  a  chance  of  going  to  see  a  man 
hanged.  There  was  a  good  deal  of  hanging  in 
those  days ;  and  yet  the  authorities  had  an  ugly 


A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS.  167 

way  of  reprieving  condemned  men  on  whom  the 
sight-seers  had  been  counting. 

An  air  uf  gloom  would  gather  on  my  old  friend's 
countenance  when  he  told  how  he  and  his  con- 
temporaries in  Thrums  trudged  every  Saturday 
for  six  weeks  to  the  county  town,  many  miles 
distant,  to  witness  the  execution  of  some  criminal 
in  whom  they  had  local  interest,  and  who,  after 
disappointing  them  again  and  again,  was  said  to 
have  been  bought  off  by  a  friend.  His  crime 
had  been  stolen  entrance  into  a  house  in  Thrums 
by  the  chimney,  with  intent  to  rob  ;  and  though 
this  old-fashioned  family  did  not  see  it,  not  the 
least  noticeable  incident  in  the  scrimmage  that 
followed  was  the  prudence  of  the  canny  house- 
wife. When  she  saw  the  legs  coming  down  the 
lum,  she  rushed  to  the  kail-pot,  which  was  on 
the  fire,  and  put  on  the  lid.  She  confessed  that 
this  was  not  done  to  prevent  the  visitor's  scalding 
himself,  but  to  save  the  broth. 

The  old  man  was  repeated  in  his  three  sons. 
They  told  his  stories  precisely  as  he  did  himself, 
taking  as  long  in  the  telling  and  making  the 
points  in  exactly  the  same  way.  By  and  by 
they  will  come  to  think  that  they  themselves 
were  of  those  past  times.  Already  the  young 
ones  look  like  contemporaries  of  their  father. 


l68  AULD  LIGHT  IDYLS. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

LITTLE    RATHIE's    "BURAL." 

Devout  -  UNDER  -  Difficulties  would  have  been 
the  name  of  LangTammas  had  he  been  of  Cov- 
enanting times.  So  I  thought  one  wintry  after- 
noon, years  before  I  went  to  the  schoolhouse, 
when  he  dropped  in  to  ask  the  pleasure  of  my 
company  to  the  farmer  of  Little  Rathie's  *'bural." 
As  a  good  Auld  Licht,  Tammas  reserved  his 
swallow-tail  coat  and  *'lum  hat"  (chimney-pot) 
for  the  kirk  and  funerals  ;  but  the  coat  would  have 
flapped  villanously,  to  Tammas*  eternal  ignominy, 
had  he  for  one  rash  moment  relaxed  his  hold  of 
the  bottom  button,  and  it  was  only  by  walking 
sideways,  as  horses  sometimes  try  to  do,  that  the 
hat  could  be  kept  at  the  angle  of  decorum.  Let 
it  not  be  thought  that  Tammas  had  asked  me  to 
Little  Rathie's  funeral  on  his  own  responsibility. 
Burials  were  among  the  few  events  to  break  the 
monotony  of  an  Auld  Licht  winter,  and  invitations 
were  as  much  sought  after  as  cards  to  my  lady's 
dances  in  the  south.  This  had  been  a  fair  aver- 
age season  for  Tammas,  though  of  his  four  burials 
one  had   been   a   bairn's — a  mere   bagatelle  ;  but 


A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS.  1 69 

had  it  not  been  for  the  death  of  Little  Rathie  I 
would  probably  not  have  been  out  that  year  at  all. 

The  small  farm  of  Little  Rathie  lies  two  miles 
from  Thrums,  and  Tammas  and  I  trudged  man- 
fully through  the  snow,  adding  to  our  numbers 
as  we  went.  The  dress  of  none  differed  materi- 
ally from  the  precentor's,  and  the  general  effect 
was  of  septuagenarians  in  each  other's  best  clothes, 
though  living  in  low-roofed  houses  had  bent  most 
of  them  before  their  time.  By  a  rearrangement 
of  garments,  such  as  making  Tammas  change 
coat,  hat,  and  trousers  with  Craigiebuckle,  Silva 
McQueen,  and  Sam'l  Wilkie  respectively,  a  dex- 
terous tailor  might  perhaps  have  supplied  ach 
with  a  '  *  fit. "  The  talk  was  chiefly  of  Little  Rathie, 
and  sometimes  threatened  to  become  animated? 
when  another  mourner  would  fall  in  and  restore 
the  more  fitting  gloom. 

*'Ay,  ay,  "the  new-comer  would  say,  by  way  of 
responding  to  the  sober  salutation,  ' '  Ay,  Johnny.  *' 
Then  there  was  silence,  but  for  the  '*  gluck  '*  with 
which  we  lifted  our  feet  from  the  slush. 

'*So  Little  Rathie's  been  ta'en  awaV' Johnny 
would  venture  to  say  by  and  by. 

*'  He's  gone,  Johnny  ;  ay,  man,  he  is  so." 

''Death  must  come  to  all," some  one  would 
waken  up  to  murmur. 

"Ay,"  Lang  Tammas  would  reply,  putting  on 
the  coping-stone,  "  in  the  morning  we  are  strong 
and  in  the  evening  we  are  cut  down. " 


1 7  O  AULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS. 

*'  We  are  so,  Tammas  ;  ou  ay,  we  are  so  ;  we're 
here  the  wan  day  an'  gone  the  neist.  " 

'*  Little  Rathie  wasna  a  crittur  I  took  till  ; 
no, I  canna  say  he  was,  "said  Bowie  Haggart,  so 
called  because  his  legs  described  a  parabola,  '*  but 
he  maks  a  vary  creeditable  corp  [corpse].  I  will 
say  that  for  him.  It's  wonderfu'  hoo  death  im- 
proves a  body.  Ye  cudna  hae  said  as  Little 
Rathie  was  a  weel-faured  man  when  he  was  i' 
the  flesh." 

Bowie  was  the  wright,  and  attended  burials  in 
his  official  capacity.  He  had  the  gift  of  words  to 
an  uncommon  degree,  and  I  do  not  forget  his 
crushing  blow  at  the  reputation  of  the  poet  Burns, 
as  delivered  under  the  auspices'  of  the  Thrums 
Literary  Society.  **I  am  of  opeenion,"  said 
Bowie,  "that  the  works  of  Burns  is  of  an  im- 
moral tendency.  I  have  not  read  them  myself, 
but  such  is  my  opeenion." 

**  He  was  a  queer  stock,  Little  Rathie,  michty 
queer,"  said  Tammas  Haggart,  Bowie's  brother, 
who  was  a  queer  stock  himself,  but  was  not 
aware  of  it;  "but,  ou,  I'm  thinkin'  the  wife 
had  something  to  do  wi't.  She  was  ill  to  manage, 
an'  Little  Rathie  hadna  the  way  o'  the  women. 
He  hadna  the  knack  o'  managin'  them  's  ye 
micht  say — no.  Little  Rathie  hadna  the  knack." 

"They're  kittle  cattle,  the  women/'  said  the 
farmer  of  Craigiebuckle — son  of  the  Craigiebuckle 
mentioned  elsewhere — a  little  gloomily.      "I've 


A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS.  1 7  j 

often  thocht  maiterimony  is  no  onlike  the  lucky- 
bags  th'  auld  wifies  has  at  the  muckly.  There's 
prizes  an'  blanks  baith  inside,  but,  losh,  ye're  far 
frae  sure  what  ye'U  draw  cot  when  ye  put  in  yer 
han'." 

"Ou,  weel,"  said  Tammas  complacently, 
**  there*s  truth  in  wh^t  ye  say,  but  the  women  can 
be  managed  if  ye  have  the  knack." 

"Some  o'  them,"  said  Craigiebuckle  woefully. 

**Ye  had  yer  wark  wi'  the  wife  yersel',  Tam- 
mas, so  ye  had,"  observed  Lang  Tammas, unbend- 
ing to  suit  his  company. 

"Ye're  speakin*  aboot  the  bit  wife's  bural/' 
said  Tammas  Haggart,  with  a  chuckle ;  "  ay,  ay, 
that  brocht  her  to  reason. " 

Without  much  pressure  Haggart  retold  a  story 
known  to  the  majority  of  his  hearers.  He  had  not 
the  "knack"  of  managing  women  apparently 
when  he  married,  for  he  and  his  gypsy  wife 
"agreed  ill  thegither"  at  first.  Once  Chirsty  left 
him  and  took  up  her  abode  in  a  house  just  across 
the  wynd.  Instead  of  routing  her  out,  Tammas, 
without  taking  any  one  into  his  confidence,  de- 
termined to  treat  Chirsty  as  dead,  and  celebrate 
her  decease  in  a  "  lyke  wake" — a  last  wake. 
These  wakes  were  very  general  in  Thrums  in  the 
old  days,  though  they  had  ceased  to  be  common 
by  the  date  of  Little  Rathie's  death.  For  three 
days  before  the  burial  the  friends  and  neighbors 
of  the  mourners  were  invited  into  the  house  to 


172  AULD  LIGHT  IDYLS. 

partake  of  food  and  drink  by  the  side  of  the  corpse. 
The  dead  lay  on  chairs  covered  with  a  white  sheet. 
Dirges  were  sung  and  the  deceased  was  extolled, 
but  when  night  came  the  lights  were  extinguished 
and  the  corpse  was  left  alone.  On  the  morning 
of  the  funeral  tables  were  spread  with  a  white 
cloth  outside  the  house,  and  food  and  drink  were 
placed  upon  them.  No  neighbor  could  pass  the 
tables  without  paying  his  respects  to  the  dead; 
and  even  when  the  house  was  in  a  busy,  narrow 
thoroughfare,  this  part  of  the  ceremony  was 
never  omitted.  Tammas  did  not  give  Chirsty  a 
wake  inside  the  house  ;  but  one  Friday  morning-^ 
it  was  market-day,  and  the  square  was  conse- 
quently full — it  went  through  the  town  that  the 
tables  were  spread  before  his  door.  Young  and 
old  collected,  wandering  round  the  house,  and 
Tammas  stood  at  the  tables  in  his  blacks  invit- 
ing every  one  to  eat  and  drink.  He  was  pressed 
to  tell  what  it  meant ;  but  nothing  could  be  got 
from  him  except  that  his  wife  was  dead.  At 
times  he  pressed  his  hands  to  his  heart,  and  then 
he  would  make  wry  faces,  trying  hard  to  cry. 
Chirsty  watched  from  a  window  across  the  street, 
until  she  perhaps  began  to  fear  that  she  really  was 
dead.  Unable  to  stand  it  any  longer,  she  rushed 
out  into  her  husband's  arms,  and  shortly  afterward 
she  could  have  been  seen  dismantling  the  tables. 
"She's  gone  this  fower  year,"  Tammas  said, 
when  he  had  finished  his  story,  "but  up  to  the 


A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS.  1 7 3 

end  I  had  no  more  trouble  wi'  Chirsty.  No,  I  had 
the  knack  o'  her." 

''I've  heard  tell,  though,"  said  the  sceptical 
Craigiebuckle,  "  as  Chirsty  only  cam  back  to  ye 
because  she  cudna  bear  to  see  the  fowk  makkin* 
sae  free  wi'  the  whiskey." 

"I  mind  hoo  she  bottled  it  up  at  ance  and 
drove  the  laddies  awa',"  said  Bowie,  "an'  I  hae 
seen  her  after  that,  Tammas,  giein'  ye  up  yer  fut 
an'  you  no  sayin*  a  word." 

"Ou,  ay,"  said  the  wife-tamer,  in  the  tone  of 
a  man  who  could  afford  to  be  generous  in  trifles, 
*' women  maun  talk,  an'  a  man  hasna  aye  time 
to  conterdick  them,  but  frae  that  day  I  had  the 
knack  o'  Chirsty.'' 

''Donal  Elshioner's  was  a  vary  seemilar 
case,"  broke  in  Snecky  Hobart,  shrilly.  *'Maist 
o'  ye'll  mind  'at  Donal  was  michty  plagueit  wi' 
a  drucken  wife.  Ay,  weel,  wan  day  Bowie's 
man  was  carryin'  a  coffin  past  Donal's  door,  and 
Donal  an'  the  wife  was  there.  Says  Donal,  '  Put 
doon  yer  coffin,  my  man,  an*  tell's  wha  it's  for.' 
The  laddie  rests  the  coffin  on  its  end,  an'  says 
he,  '  It's  for  Davie  Fairbrother's  guidwife.*  *  Ay, 
then,*  says  Donal,  *tak' it  awa',  tak' it  awa*  to 
Davie,  an'  tell  'im  as  ye  ken  a  man  wi'  a  wife  'at 
wid  be  glad  to  neifer  (exchange)  wi*  him.'  Man, 
that  terrified  Donal's  wife  ;  it  did  so. " 

As  we  delved  up  the  twisting  road  between 
two  fields  that  leads  to  the  farm  of  Little  Rathie, 


174  ^  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS. 

the  talk  became  less  general,  and  another 
mourner  who  joined  us  there  was  told  that  the 
farmer  was  gone. 

"  We  must  all  fade  as  a  leaf,"  said  Lang  Tam- 
mas. 

*'So  we  maun,  so  we  maun,"  admitted  the 
new-comer.  "They  say,"  he  added,  solemnly, 
*'  as  Little  Rathie  has  left  a  full  teapot." 

The  reference  was  to  the  safe  in  which  the  old 
people  in  the  district  stored  their  gains. 

"He  was  thrifty,"  said  Tammas  Haggart, 
"an'  shrewd,  too,  was  Little  Rathie.  I  mind 
Mr.  Dishart  admonishin'  him  for  no  attendin'  a 
special  weather  service  i'  the  kirk,  when  Finny 
an'  Lintool,  the  twa  adjoinin'  farmers,  baith  at- 
tendit.  '  Ou,'  says  Little  Rathie,  '  I  thocht  to  my- 
sel',  thinks  I,  if  they  get  rain  for  prayin'  for't  on 
Finny  an'  Lintool,  we're  bound  to  get  the  bene- 
fit o't  on  Little  Rathie.'" 

"Tod,"  said  Snecky,  "there's  some  sense  in 
that ;  an*  what  says  the  minister .?  " 

"I  d'na  ken  what  he  said,"  admitted  Haggart  ; 
"but  he  took  Little  Rathie  up  to  the  manse,  an' 
if  ever  I  saw  a  man  lookin'  sma'  it  was  Little 
Rathie  when  he  cam  oot." 

The  deceased  had  left  behind  him  a  daughter 
(herself  now  known  as  Little  Rathie),  quite  ca- 
pable of  attending  to  the  ramshackle  "but  and 
ben  ;"  and  I  remember  how  she  nipped  off  Tam- 
mas' consolations  to  go  out  and  feed  the  hens.     To 


A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS.  1 7  5 

the  number  of  about  twenty  we  assembled  round 
the  end  of  the  house  to  escape  the  bitter  wind, 
and  here  I  lost  the  precentor,  who,  as  an  Auld 
Licht  elder,  joined  the  chief  mourners  inside.  The 
post  of  distinction  at  a  funeral  is  near  the  coffin  ; 
but  it  is  not  given  to  every  one  to  be  a  relative  of 
the  deceased,  and  there  is  always  much  competi- 
tion and  genteelly  concealed  disappointment  over 
the  few  open  vacancies.  The  window  of  the 
room  was  decently  veiled,  but  the  mourners  out- 
side knew  what  was  happening  within,  and  that 
it  was  not  all  prayer,  neither  mourning.  A  few 
of  the  more  reverent  uncovered  their  heads  at  in- 
tervals ;  but  it  would  be  idle  to  deny  that  there 
was  a  feeling  that  Little  Rathie's  daughter  was 
favoring  Tammas  and  others  somewhat  invidi- 
ously. Indeed,  Robbie  Gibruth  did  not  scruple  to 
remark  that  she  had  made  "  an  inauspeecious  be- 
ginning. "  Tammas  Haggart,  who  was  melan- 
choly when  not  sarcastic,  though  he  brightened  up 
wonderfully  at  funerals,  reminded  Robbie  that 
disappointment  is  the  lot  of  man  on  his  earthly 
pilgrimage ;  but  Haggart  knew  who  were  to  be 
invited  back  after  the  burial  to  the  farm,  and  was 
inclined  to  make  much  of  his  position.  The 
secret  would  doubtless  have  been  wormed  from 
him  had  not  public  attention  been  directed  into 
another  channel.  A  prayer  was  certainly  being 
offered  up  inside ;  but  the  voice  was  not  the  voice 
of  the  minister. 


176  A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS. 

Lang  Tammas  told  me  afterward  that  it  had 
seemed  at  one  time  "vary  queistionable  "  whether 
Little  Rathie  would  be  buried  that  day  at  all.  The 
incomprehensible  absence  of  Mr.  Dishart  (after- 
ward satisfactorily  explained)  had  raised  the  unex- 
pected question  of  the  legality  of  a  burial  in  a  case 
where  the  minister  had  not  prayed  over  the '  *  corp. " 

There  had  even  been  an  indulgence  in  hot  words, 
and  the  Reverend  Alexander  Kewans,  a  *'stickit 
minister," but  not  of  the  Auld  Licht  persuasion, 
had  withdrawn  in  dudgeon  on  hearing  Tammas 
asked  to  conduct  the  ceremony  instead  of  himself. 

But,  great  as  Tammas  was  on  religious  ques- 
tions, a  pillar  of  the  Auld  Licht  kirk,  the  Shorter 
Catechism  at  his  finger-ends,  a  sad  want  of  words 
at  the  very  time  when  he  needed  them  most  in- 
capacitated him  for  prayer  in  public,  and  it  was 
providential  that  Bowie  proved  himself  a  man  of 
parts.  But  Tammas  tells  me  that  the  wright  grossly 
abused  his  position,  by  praying  at  such  length 
that  Craigiebuckle  fell  asleep,  and  the  mistress 
had  to  rise  and  hang  the  pot  on  the  fire  higher  up 
the  joist,  lest  its  contents  should  burn  before  the 
return  from  the  funeral.  Loury  grew  the  sky, 
and  more  and  more  anxious  the  face  of  Little 
Rathie's  daughter,  and  still  Bowie  prayed  on. 
Had  it  not  been  for  the  impatience  of  the  precentor 
and  the  grumbling  of  the  mourners  outside,  there 
is  no  saying  when  the  remains  would  have  been 
lifted  through  the  "  bole,  "  or  little  window. 


AULD  LICHT  IDYLS.  177 

Hearses  had  hardly  come  in  at  this  time,  and 
the  coffin  was  carried  by  the  mourners  on  long 
stakes.  The  straggling  procession  of  pedestrians 
behind  wound  its  slow  way  in  the  waning  light 
to  the  kirk-yard,  showing  startlingly  black  against 
the  dazzling  snow  ;  and  it  was  not  until  the  earth 
rattled  on  the  coffin-lid  that  Little  Rathie's  nearest 
male  relative  seemed  to  remember  his  last  mourn- 
ful duty  to  the  dead.  Sidling  up  to  the  favored 
mourners,  he  remarked  casually  and  in  the  most 
emotionless  tone  he  could  assume  :  "  They're  ex- 
pec'in  ye  to  stap  doon  the  length  o'  Little  Rathie 
noo.  Aye,  aye,  he's  gone.  Na,  na,  nae  refoosal, 
Da-avit  ye  was  aye  a  guid  friend  till  him,  an'  it's 
onything  a  body  can  do  for  him  noo." 

Though  the  uninvited  slunk  away  sorrowfully, 
the  entertainment  provided  at  Auld  Licht  houses 
of  mourning  was  characteristic  of  a  stern  and  so- 
ber sect.  They  got  to  eat  and  to  drink  to  the  ex- 
tent, as  a  rule,  of  a  'Mippy  "  of  short  bread  and  a 
"brew"  of  toddy  ;  but  open  Bibles  lay  on  the 
table,  and  the  eyes  of  each  were  on  his  neighbor's 
to  catch  them  transgressing,  and  offer  up  a  prayer 
for  them  on  the  spot.  Ay  me  !  there  is  no  Bowie 
nowadays  to  fill  an  absent  minister's  shoes. 

12 


178  A ULD  LIGHT  IDYLS. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

A    LITERARY  CLUB. 

The  ministers  in  the  town  did  not  hold  with 
literature.  When  the  most  notorious  of  the  clubs 
met  in  the  town-house  under  the  presidentship  of 
Gavin  Ogilvy,  who  was  no  better  than  a  poacher, 
and  was  troubled  in  his  mind  because  writers 
called  Pope  a  poet,  there  was  frequently  a  wrangle 
over  the  question,  "  Is  literature  necessarily  im- 
moral ? "  It  was  a  fighting  club,  and  on  Friday 
nights  the  few  respectable,  God-fearing  members 
dandered  to  the  town-house,  as  if  merely  curious 
to  have  another  look  at  the  building.  If  Lang 
Tammas,  who  was  dead  against  letters,  was  in 
sight  they  wandered  off,  but  when  there  were  no 
spies  abroad  they  slunk  up  the  stair.  The  attend- 
ance was  greatest  on  dark  nights,  though  Gavin 
himself  and  some  other  characters  would  have 
marched  straight  to  the  meeting  in  broad  day- 
light. Tammas  Haggart,  who  did  not  think  much 
of  Milton's  devil,  had  married  a  gypsy  woman  for 
an  experiment,  and  the  Coat  of  Many  Colors  did 
not  know  where  his  wife  was.     As  a  rule,  how- 


A  ULD  LtCHT  ID  YLS.  1 79 

ever,  the  members  were  wild  bachelors.     When 
they  married  they  had  to  settle  down. 

Gavin's  essay  on  Will'um  Pitt,  the  Father  of  the 
Taxes,  led  to  the  club's  being  bundled  out  of  the 
town-house,  where  people  said  it  should  never 
have  been  allowed  to  meet.  There  was  a  terrible 
towse  when  Tammas  Haggart  then  disclosed  the 
secret  of  Mr.  Byars'  supposed  approval  of  the  club. 
Mr.  Byars  was  the  Auld  Licht  minister  whom  Mr. 
Dishart  succeeded,  and  it  was  well  known  that  he 
had  advised  the  authorities  to  grant  the  use  of  the 
little  town-house  to  the  club  on  Friday  evenings. 
As  he  solemnly  warned  his  congregation  against 
attending  the  meetings,  the  position  he  had  taken 
up  created  talk,  and  Lang  Tammas  called  at  the 
manse  with  Sanders  Whamond  to  remonstrate. 
The  minister,  however,  harangued  them  on  their 
sinfulness  in  daring  to  question  the  like  of  him, 
and  they  had  to  retire  vanquished  though  dissat- 
isfied. Then  came  the  disclosures  of  Tammas 
Haggart,  who  was  never  properly  secured  by  the 
Auld  Lichts  until  Mr.  Dishart  took  him  in  hand. 
It  was  Tammas  who  wrote  anonymous  letters  to 
Mr.  Byars  about  the  scarlet  woman,  and,  strange 
to  say,  this  led  to  the  club's  being  allowed  to 
meet  in  the  town-house.  The  minister,  after 
many  days,  discovered  who  his  correspondent 
was,  and  succeeded  in  inveigling  the  stone- 
breaker  to  the  manse.  There,  with  the  door 
snibbed,  he  opened  out  on  Tammas,  who,  after 


iSo  AVLD  LICMT IDYLS. 

his  usual  manner  when  hard  pressed,  pretended 
to  be  deaf.  This  sudden  fit  of  deafness  so  exas- 
perated the  minister  that  he  flung  a  book  atTam- 
mas.  The  scene  that  followed  was  one  that  few 
Auld  Licht  manses  can  have  witnessed.  Accord- 
ing to  Tammas,  the  book  had  hardly  reached  the 
floor  when  the  minister  turned  white.  Tammas 
picked  up  the  missile.  It  was  a  Bible.  The  two 
men  looked  at  each  other.  Beneath  the  window 
Mr.  Byars'  children  were  prattling.  His  wife  was 
moving  about  in  the  next  room,  little  thinking 
what  had  happened.  The  minister  held  out  his 
hand  for  the  Bible,  but  Tammas  shook  his  head, 
and  then  Mr.  Byars  shrank  into  a  chair.  Finally, 
it  was  arranged  that  if  Tammas  kept  the  affair  to 
himself  the  minister  would  say  a  good  word  to 
the  bailie  about  the  literary  club.  After  that  the 
stone-breaker  used  to  go  from  house  to  house, 
twisting  his  mouth  to  the  side  and  remarking  that 
he  could  tell  such  a  tale  of  Mr.  Byars  as  would 
lead  to  a  split  in  the  kirk.  When  the  town-house 
was  locked  on  the  club  Tammas  spoke  out,  but 
though  the  scandal  ran  from  door  to  door,  as  I 
have  seen  a  pig  in  a  fluster  do,  the  minister  did 
not  lose  his  place.  Tammas  preserved  the  Bible, 
and  showed  it  complacently  to  visitors  as  the 
present  he  got  from  Mr.  Byars.  The  minister 
knew  this,  and  it  turned  his  temper  sour.  Tam- 
mas' proud  moments,  after  that,  were  when  he 
passed  the  minister. 


A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS.  i8 1 

Driven  from  the  town-house,  literature  found  a 
table  with  forms  round  it  in  a  tavern  hard  by, 
where  the  club,  lopped  of  its  most  respectable 
members,  kept  the  blinds  down  and  talked  openly 
of  Shakespeare.  It  was  a  low-roofed  room,  with 
pieces  of  lime  hanging  from  the  ceiling  and 
peeling  walls.  The  floor  had  a  slope  that  tended 
to  fling  the  debater  forward,  and  its  boards,  lying 
loose  on  an  uneven  foundation,  rose  and  looked 
at  you  as  you  crossed  the  room.  In  winter, 
when  the  meetings  were  held  regularly  every 
fortnight,  a  fire  of  peat,  sod,  and  dross  lit  up  the 
curious  company  who  sat  round  the  table  shaking 
their  heads  over  Shelley's  mysticism,  or  requiring 
to  be  called  to  order  because  they  would  not  wait 
their  turn  to  deny  an  essayist's  assertion  that 
Berkeley's  style  was  superior  to  David  Hume's. 
Davit  Hume,  they  said,  and  Watty  Scott.  Burns 
was  simply  referred  to  as  Rob  or  Robbie. 

There  was  little  drinking  at  these  meetings,  for 
the  members  knew  wh^t  they  were  talking  about, 
and  your  mind  had  to  gallop  to  keep  up  with  the 
flow  of  reasoning.  Thrums  is  rather  a  remarkable 
town.  There  are  scores  and  scores  of  houses  in 
it,  that  have  sent  their  sons  to  college  (by  what  a 
struggle !),  some  to  make  their  way  to  the  front 
in  their  professions,  and  others,  perhaps,  despite 
their  broadcloth,  never  to  be  a  patch  on  their  par- 
ents. In  that  literary  club  there  were  men  of  a 
reading  so  wide  and  catholic  that  it  might  put 


iS2  A  ULD  LICHT  ID  YLS. 

some  graduates  of  the  universities  to  shame,  and 
of  an  intellect  so  keen  that  had  it  not  had  a  crook 
in  it  their  fame  would  have  crossed  the  county. 
Most  of  them  had  but  a  threadbare  existence,  for 
you  weave  slowly  with  a  Wordsworth  open  before 
you,  and  some  were  strange  Bohemians  (which 
does  not  do  in  Thrums),  yet  others  wandered  in- 
to the  world  and  compelled  it  to  recognize  them. 
There  is  a  London  barrister  whose  father  be- 
longed to  the  club.  Not  many  years  ago  a  man 
died  on  the  staff  of  the  Times,  who,  when  he  was 
a  weaver  near  Thrums,  was  one  of  the  club's 
prominent  members.  He  taught  himself  short- 
hand by  the  light  of  a  cruizey,  and  got  a  post  on 
a  Perth  paper,  afterward  on  the  Scotsman  and  the 
Witness,  and  finally  on  the  Times.  Several  other 
men  of  his  type  had  a  history  worth  reading,  but 
it  is  not  for  me  to  write.  Yet  I  may  say  that 
there  is  still  at  least  one  of  the  original  members 
of  the  club  left  behind  in  Thrums  to  whom  some 
of  the  literary  dandies  might  lift  their  hats. 

Gavin  Ogilvy  I  only  knew  as  a  weaver  and  a 
poacher ;  a  lank,  long-armed  man,  much  bent 
from  crouching  in  ditches  whence  he  watched  his 
snares.  To  the  young  he  was  a  romantic  figure, 
because  they  saw  him  frequently  in  the  fields 
with  his  call-birds  tempting  siskins,  yellow  yites, 
and  linties  to  twigs  which  he  had  previously 
smeared  with  lime.  He  made  the  lime  from  the 
tough  roots  of  holly  ;  sometimes  from  linseed  oil, 


A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS.  183 

which  is  boiled  until  thick,  when  it  is  taken  out 
of  the  pot  and  drawn  and  stretched  with  the  hands 
like  elastic.  Gavin  was  also  a  famous  hare- 
snarer  at  a  time  when  the  ploughman  looked  upon 
this  form  of  poaching  as  his  perquisite.  The 
snare  was  of  wire,  so  constructed  that  the  hare 
entangled  itself  the  more  when  trying  to  escape, 
and  it  was  placed  across  the  little  roads  through 
the  fields  to  which  hares  confine  themselves,  with 
a  heavy  stone  attached  to  it  by  a  string.  Once 
Gavin  caught  a  tod  (fox)  instead  of  a  hare,  and 
did  not  discover  his  mistake  until  it  had  him  by 
the  teeth.  He  was  not  able  to  weave  for  two 
months.  The  grouse-netting  was  more  lucrative 
and  more  exciting,  and  women  engaged  in  it  with 
their  husbands.  It  is  told  of  Gavin  that  he  was 
on  one  occasion  chased  by  a  game-keeper  over 
moor  and  hill  for  twenty  miles,  and  that  by  and 
by  when  the  one  sank  down  exhausted  so  did  the 
other.  They  would  sit  fifty  yards  apart,  glaring 
at  each  other.  The  poacher  eventually  escaped. 
This,  curious  as  it  may  seem,  is  the  man  whose 
eloquence  at  the  club  has  not  been  forgotten  in 
fifty  years.  **Thus  did  he  stand,"  I  have  been 
told  recently,  ''exclaiming  in  language  sublime 
that  the  soul  shall  bloom  in  immortal  youth 
through  the  ruin  and  wrack  of  time." 

Another  member  read  to  the  club  an  account  of 
his  journey  to  Lochnagar,  which  was  afterward 
published  in  Chambers's  Journal,     He  was  cele- 


184  A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS. 

brated  for  his  descriptions  of  scenery,  and  was 
not  the  only  member  of  the  club  whose  essays 
got  into  print.  More  memorable  perhaps  was  an 
itinerant  match-seller  known  to  Thrums  and  the 
surrounding  towns  as  the  literary  spunk-seller. 
He  was  a  wizened,  shivering  old  man,  often  bare- 
footed, wearing  at  the  best  a  thin  ragged  coat 
that  had  been  black  but  was  green-brown  with 
age,  and  he  made  his  spunks  as  well  as  sold  them. 
He  brought  Bacon  and  Adam  Smith  into  Thrums, 
and  he  loved  to  recite  long  screeds  from  Spenser, 
with  a  running  commentary  on  the  versification 
and  the  luxuriance  of  the  diction.  Of  Jamie's 
death  I  do  not  care  to  write.  He  went  without 
many  a  dinner  in  order  to  buy  a  book. 

The  Coat  of  Many  Colors  and  Silva  Robbie  were 
two  street  preachers  who  gave  the  Thrums  minis- 
ters some  work.  They  occasionally  appeared  at 
the  club.  The  Coat  of  Many  Colors  was  so  called 
because  he  wore  a  garment  consisting  of  patches 
of  cloth  of  various  colors  sewed  together.  It 
hung  down  to  his  heels.  He  may  have  been 
cracked  rather  than  inspired,  but  he  was  a  power 
in  the  square  where  he  preached,  the  women  de- 
claring that  he  was  gifted  by  God.  An  awe  filled 
even  the  men  when  he  admonished  them  for 
using  strong  language,  for  at  such  a  time  he 
would  remind  them  of  the  woe  which  fell  upon 
Tibbie  Mason.  Tibbie  had  been  notorious  in  her 
day  for  evil-speaking,  especially  for  her  -free  use 


A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS.  185 

of  the  word  handless,  which  she  flung  a  hundred 
times  in  a  week  at  her  man,  and  even  at  her  old 
mother.  Her  punishment  was  to  have  a  son  born 
without  hands.  The  Coat  of  Many  Colors  also 
told  of  the  liar  who  exclaimed,  "  If  this  is  not  gos- 
pel true  may  I  stand  here  forever,"  and  who  is 
standing  on  that  spot  still,  only  nobody  knows 
where  it  is.  George  Wishart  was  the  Coat's  hero, 
and  often  he  has  told  in  the  square  how  Wishart 
saved  Dundee.  It  was  the  time  when  the  plague 
lay  over  Scotland,  and  in  Dundee  they  saw  it 
approaching  from  the  West  in  the  form  of  a  great 
black  cloud.  They  fell  on  their  knees  and  prayed, 
crying  to  the  cloud  to  pass  them  by,  and  while 
they  prayed  it  came  nearer.  Then  they  lookd 
around  for  the  most  holy  man  among  them,  to 
intervene  with  God  on  their  behalf  All  eyes 
turned  to  George  Wishart,  and  he  stood  up, 
stretching  his  arms  to  the  cloud,  and  prayed,  and 
it  rolled  back.  Thus  Dundee  was  saved  from  the 
plague,  but  when  Wishart  ended  his  prayer  he 
was  alone,  for  the  people  had  all  returned  to  their 
homes.  Less  of  a  genuine  man  than  the  Coat  of 
Many  Colors  was  Silva  Robbie,  who  had  horrid 
fits  of  laughing  in  the  middle  of  his  prayers,  and 
even  fell  in  a  paroxysm  of  laughter  from  the  chair 
on  which  he  stood.  In  the  club  he  said  things 
not  to  be  borne,  though  logical  up  to  a  certain 
point. 
Tammas  Hagg:art  was  the  most  sarc^tic  mem- 


1 86  A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS. 

ber  of  the  club,  being  celebrated  for  his  sarcasm 
far  and  wide.  It  was  a  remarkable  thing  about 
him,  often  spoken  of,  that  if  you  went  to  Tam- 
mas  with  a  stranger  and  asked  him  to  say  a  sar- 
castic thing  that  the  man  might  take  away  as  a 
specimen,  he  could  not  do  it.  "Na,  na,"  Tam- 
mas  would  say,  after  a  few  trials,  referring  to 
sarcasm,  "she's  no  a  crittur  to  force.  Ye  maun 
lat  her  tak'  her  ain  time.  Sometimes  she's  dry 
like  the  pump,  an'  syne,  again,  oot  she  comes  in 
a  gush."  The  most  sarcastic  thing  the  stone- 
breaker  ever  said  was  frequently  marvelled  over 
in  Thrums,  both  before  and  behind  his  face,  but, 
unfortunately  no  one  could  ever  remember  what 
it  was.  The  subject,  however,  was  Cha  Tam- 
son's  potato  pit.  There  is  little  doubt  that  it  was 
a  fit  of  sarcasm  that  induced  Tammas  to  marry  a 
gypsy  lassie.  Mr.  Byars  would  not  join  them, 
so  Tammas  had  himself  married  by  Jimmy 
Pawse,  the  gay  little  gypsy  king,  and  after  that 
the  minister  re-married  them.  The  marriage 
over  the  tongs  is  a  thing  to  scandalize  any  well- 
brought-up  person,  for,  before  he  joined  the 
couple's  hands,  Jimmy  jumped  about  in  a  start- 
ling way,  uttering  wild  gibberish,  and  after  the 
ceremony  was  over  there  was  rough  work,  with 
incantations  and  blowing  on  pipes.  Tammas 
always  held  that  this  marriage  turned  out  better 
than  he  had  expected,  though  he  had  his  trials 
like   other   married   men,     Among^  them    was 


A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS.  187 

Chirsty's  way  of  climbing  on  to  the  dresser  to  get 
at  the  higher  part  of  the  plate-rack.  One  even- 
ing I  called  in  to  have  a  smoke  vi^ith  the  stone- 
breaker,  and  vi^hile  we  were  talking  Chirsty 
climbed  the  dresser.  The  next  moment  she  was 
on  the  floor  on  her  back,  wailing,  but  Tammas 
smoked  on  imperturbably.  "Do  you  not  see 
what  has  happened,  man?"  I  cried.  *'0u," 
said  Tammas,  **  she's  aye  fa'in  aff  the  dresser." 
Of  the  school-masters  who  were  at  times  mem- 
bers of  the  club,  Mr.  Dickie  was  the  ripest 
scholar,  but  my  predecessor  at  the  school-house 
had  a  way  of  sneering  at  him  that  was  as  good 
as  sarcasm.  When  they  were  on  their  legs  at 
the  same  time,  asking  each  other  passionately  to 
be  calm,  and  rolling  out  lines  from  Homer  that 
made  the  inn-keeper  look  fearfully  to  the  fasten- 
ings of  the  door,  their  heads  very  nearly  came 
together,  although  the  table  was  between  them. 
The  old  dominie  had  an  advantage  in  being  the 
shorter  man,  for  he  could  hammer  on  the  table 
as  he  spoke,  while  gaunt  Mr.  Dickie  had  to 
stoop  to  it.  Mr.  McRittie's  arguments  were  a 
series  of  nails  that  he  knocked  into  the  table,  and 
he  did  it  in  a  workmanlike  manner.  Mr.  Dickie, 
though  he  kept  firm  on  his  feet,  swayed  his  body 
until  by  and  by  his  head  was  rotating  in  a  large 
circle.  The  mathematical  figure  he  made  was  a 
cone  revolving  on  its  apex.  Gavin's  reinstalment 
in  the  chair  year  after  year  was  made  by  the 


l88  A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS. 

disappointed  dominie  the  subject  of  some  tart 
verses,  which  he  called  an  epode,  but  Gavin 
crushed  him  when  they  were  read  before  the 
club.  "  Satire, "  he  said,  "  is  a  legitimate  weap- 
on, used  with  michty  effect  by  Swift,  Sammy 
Butler,  and  others,  and  I  dount  object  to  being 
made  the  subject  of  creeticism.  It  has  often 
been  called  a  t'nife  (knife),  but  them  as  is  not 
used  to  t'nives  cuts  their  hands,  and  ye'll  a'  ob- 
serve that  Mr.  McRittie's  fingers  is  bleedin'."  All 
eyes  were  turned  upon  the  dominie's  hand,  and 
though  he  pocketed  it  smartly,  several  members 
had  seen  the  blood.  The  dominie  was  a  rare 
visitor  at  the  club  after  that,  though  he  outlived 
poor  Mr.  Dickie  by  many  years.  Mr.  Dickie 
was  a  teacher  in  Tilliedrum,  but  he  was  ruined 
by  drink.  He  wandered  from  town  to  town,  re- 
citing Greek  and  Latin  poetry  to  any  one  who 
would  give  him  a  dram,  and  sometimes  he  wept 
and  moaned  aloud  in  the  street,  crying,  "  Poor 
Mr.  Dickie !  poor  Mr.  Dickie  !  " 

The  leading  poet  in  a  club  of  poets  was  Dite 
Walls,  who  kept  a  school  when  there  were  schol- 
ars, and  weaved  when  there  were  none.  He 
had  a  song  that  was  published  in  a  half-penny 
leaflet  about  the  famous  lawsuit  instituted  by  the 
farmer  of  Teuchbusses  against  the  Laird  of  Drum- 
lee.  The  laird  was  alleged  to  have  taken  from 
the  land  of  Teuchbusses  sufficient  broom  to  make 
a  besom  thereof,  and  I  am  not  certain  that  the 


A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS,  1 89 

case  is  settled  to  this  day.  It  was  Dite,  or  an- 
other member  of  the  club,  who  wrote  "The 
Wife  o'  Deeside,"  of  all  the  songs  of  the  period 
the  one  that  had  the  greatest  vogue  in  the  county 
at  a  time  when  Lord  Jeffrey  was  cursed  at  every 
fireside  in  Thrums.  The  wife  of  Deeside  was 
tried  for  the  murder  of  her  servant,  who  had  in- 
fatuated the  young  laird,  and  had  it  not  been  that 
Jeffrey  defended  her,  she  would,  in  the  words  of 
the  song,  have  **hung  like  a  troot."  It  is  not 
easy  now  to  conceive  the  rage  against  Jeffrey 
when  the  woman  was  acquitted.  The  song  was 
sung  and  recited  in  the  streets,  at  the  smiddy,  in 
bothies,  and  by  firesides,  to  the  shaking  of  fists 
and  grinding  of  teeth.     It  began  : 

*♦  Yell  a'  hae  hear  tell  o'  the  wife  o'  Deeside, 
Ye'U  a'  hae  hear  tell  o'  the  wife  o'  Deeside, 
She  poisoned  her  maid  for  to  keep  up  her  pride, 
Ye'll  a'  hae  hear  tell  o'  the  wife  o'  Deeside." 

Before  the  excitement  had  abated,  Jeffrey  was 
in  Tilliedrum  for  electioneering  purposes,  and  he 
was  mobbed  in  the  streets.  Angry  crowds  pressed 
close  to  howl  "  Wife  o'  Deeside  ! "  at  him.  A 
contingent  from  Thrums  was  there,  and  it  was 
long  afterward  told  of  Sam'l  Todd,  by  himself, 
that  he  hit  Jeffrey  on  the  back  of  the  head  with  a 
clod  of  earth. 

Johnny  McQuhatty,  a  brother  of  the  T'now- 
head  farmer,  was  the  one  taciturn  member  of  the 


190  A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS. 

club,  and  you  had  only  to  look  at  him  to  know 
that  he  had  a  secret.  He  was  a  great  genius  at 
the  hand-loom,  and  invented  a  loom  for  the  weav- 
ing of  linen  such  as  has  not  been  seen  before  or 
since.  In  the  day-time  he  kept  guard  over  his 
"  shop,"  into  which  no  one  was  allowed  to  enter, 
and  the  fame  of  his  loom  was  so  great  that  he 
had  to  watch  over  it  w^ith  a  gun.  At  night  he 
weaved,  and  when  the  result  at  last  pleased  him 
he  made  the  linen  into  shirts,  all  of  which  he 
stitched  together  with  his  own  hands,  even  to  the 
button-holes.  He  sent  one  shirt  to  the  Queen, 
and  another  to  the  Duchess  of  Athole,  mention- 
ing a  very  large  price  for  them,  which  he  got. 
Then  he  destroyed  his  wonderful  loom,  and  how 
it  was  made  no  one  will  ever  know.  Johnny 
only  took  to  literature  after  he  had  made  his 
name,  and  he  seldom  spoke  at  the  club  except 
when  ghosts  and  the  like  v^^ere  the  subject  of 
debate,  as  they  tended  to  be  when  the  farmer  of 
Muckle  Haws  could  get  in  a  word.  Muckle  Haws 
was  fascinated  by  Johnny's  sneers  at  superstition, 
and  sometimes  on  dark  nights  the  inventor  had  to 
make  his  courage  good  by  seeing  the  farmer  past 
the  doulie  yates  (ghost  gates),  which  Muckle 
Havrs  had  to  go  perilously  near  on  his  way  home. 
Johnny  was  a  small  man,  but  it  was  the  burly 
farmer  who  shook  at  sight  of  the  gates  standing 
out  white  in  the  night.  White  gates  have  an  evil 
name  still,  and  Muckle  Haws  was  full  of  horrors 


A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  VLS.  191 

as  he  drew  near  them,  clinging  to  Johnny's  arm. 
It  was  on  such  a  night,  he  would  remember,  that 
he  saw  the  White  Lady  go  through  the  gates 
greeting  sorely,  with  a  dead  bairn  in  her  arms, 
while  the  water  kelpie  laughed  and  splashed  in 
the  pools  and  the  witches  danced  in  a  ring  round 
Broken  Buss.  That  very  night  twelve  months  ago 
the  packman  was  murdered  at  Broken  Buss,  and 
EaSie  Pettie  hanged  herself  on  the  stump  of  a  tree. 
Last  night  there  were  ugly  sounds  from  the  quarry 
of  Croup,  where  the  bairn  lies  buried,  and  it's  not 
mous  (canny)  to  be  out  at  such  a  time.  The 
farmer  had  seen  spectre  maidens  walking  round 
the  ruined  castle  of  Darg,  and  the  castle  all  lit  up 
with  flaring  torches,  and  dead  knights  and  ladies 
sitting  in  the  halls  at  the  wine-cup,  and  the  devil 
himself  flapping  his  wings  on  the  ramparts. 

When  the  debates  were  political,  two  members 
with  the  gift  of  song  fired  the  blood  with  their 
own  poems  about  taxation  and  the  depopulation 
of  the  Highlands,  and  by  selling  these  songs  from 
door  to  door  they  made  their  livelihood. 

Books  and  pamphlets  were  brought  into  the 
town  by  the  flying  stationers,  as  they  were  called, 
who  visited  the  square  periodically  carrying  their 
wares  on  their  backs,  except  at  the  Muckly,  when 
they  had  their  stall  and  even  sold  books  by  auction. 
The  flying  stationer  best  known  to  Thrums  was 
Sandersy  Riach,  who  was  stricken  from  head  to 
foot  with  the  palsy,  and  could  only  speak  with  a 


192  A  ULD  LIGHT  ID  YLS. 

quaver  in  consequence.  Sandersy  brought  to  the 
members  of  the  club  all  the  great  books  he  could 
get  second-hand,  but  his  stock  in  trade  was 
Thrummy  Cap  and  Akenstaff,  the  Fishwives  of 
Buckhaven,  the  Devil  upon  Two  Sticks,  Gilderoy, 
Sir  James  the  Rose,  the  Brownie  of  Badenoch,  the 
Ghaist  of  Firenden,  and  the  like.  It  was  from 
Sandersy  that  Tammas  Haggart  bought  his  copy 
of  Shakespeare,  whom  Mr.  Dishart  could  never 
abide.  Tammas  kept  what  he  had  done  from  his 
wife,  but  Chirsty  saw  a  deterioration  setting  in 
and  told  the  minister  of  her  suspicions.  Mr. 
Dishart  was  newly  placed  at  the  time  and  very 
vigorous,  and  the  way  he  shook  the  truth  out  of 
Tammas  was  grand.  The  minister  pulled  Tam- 
mas the  one  way  and  Gavin  pulled  him  the  other, 
but  Mr.  Dishart  was  not  the  man  to  be  beaten, 
and  he  landed  Tammas  in  the  Auld  Licht  kirk 
before  the  year  was  out.  Chirsty  buried  Shakes- 
peare in  the  yard. 


THE  END. 


BETTER  DEAD, 


CHAPTER  I. 

When  Andrew  Riach  went  to  London,  his  in- 
tention was  to  become  private  secretary  to  a 
member  of  the  Cabinet.  If  time  permitted,  he 
proposed  writing  for  the  press. 

*'It  might  be  better  if  you  and  Clarrie  under- 
stood each  other,"  the  minister  said. 

It  was  their  last  night  together.  They  faced 
each  other  in  the  manse-parlor  at  Wheens,  whose 
low,  peeled  ceiling  had  threatened  Mr.  Eassie  at 
his  desk  every  time  he  looked  up  with  his  pen  in 
his  mouth,  until  his  wife  died,  when  he  ceased  to 
notice  things.  The  one  picture  on  the  walls,  an 
engraving  of  a  boy  in  velveteen,  astride  a  tree, 
entitled,  "Boyhood  of  Bunyan,"  had  started  life 
with  him.  The  horsehair  chairs  were  not  torn, 
and  you  did  not  require  to  know  the  sofa  before 
you  sat  down  on  it  that  day  thirty  years  before, 
when  a  chubby  minister  and  his  lady  walked  to 
13 


194  BETTER  DEAD. 

the  manse  between  two  cartloads  of  furniture, 
trying  not  to  look  elated. 

Clarrie  rose  to  go,  when  she  heard  her  name. 
The  lovelight  was  in  her  eyes,  but  Andrew  did 
not  open  the  door  for  her,  for  he  was  a  Scotch 
graduate.  Besides,  she  might  one  day  be  his 
wife. 

The  minister's  toddy-ladle  clinked  against  his 
tumbler,  but  Andrew  did  not  speak.  Clarrie  was 
the  girl  he  generally  adored. 

* '  As  for  Clarrie, "  he  said  at  last,  * '  she  puts  me 
in  an  awkward  position.  How  do  I  know  that  I 
love  her  ? " 

"You  have  known  each  other  along  time," 
said  the  minister. 

His  guest  was  cleaning  his  pipe  with  a  hair- 
pin, that  his  quick  eye  had  detected  on  the  carpet. 

"And  she  is  devoted  to  you,"  continued  Mr. 
Eassie. 

The  young  man  nodded. 

"What  I  fear,"  he  said,  "is  that  we  have 
known  each  other  too  long.  Perhaps  my  feeling 
for  Clarrie  is  only  brotherly " 

"  Hers  for  you,  Andrew,  is  more  than  sisterly." 

"Admitted.  But  consider,  Mr.  Eassie,  she  has 
only  seen  the  world  in  soiries.  Every  girl  has 
her  day-dreams,  and  Clarrie  has  perhaps  made  a 
dream  of  me.  She  is  impulsive,  given  to  ideal- 
ization, and  hopelessly  illogical." 

The  minister  moved  uneasily  in  his  chair. 


BETTER  DEAD,  t^ 

**  I  have  reasoned  out  her  present  relation  to 
me,"  the  young  man  went  on,  "and,  the  more 
you  reduce  it  to  the  usual  formulae,  the  more  illo- 
gical it  becomes.  Clarrie  could  possibly  describe 
me,  but  define  me — never.  What  is  our  prospect 
of  happiness  in  these  circumstances  ? " 

* '  But  love "  began  Mr.  Eassie. 

**  Love  !  "  exclaimed  Andrew.  **  Is  there  such 
a  thing  ?  Reduce  it  to  syllogistic  form,  and  how 
does  it  look  in  Barbara  ?  " 

For  the  moment  there  was  almost  some  expres- 
sion in  his  face,  and  he  suffered  from  a  determina- 
tion of  words  to  the  mouth. 

''Love  and  logic,"  Mr.  Eassie  interposed,  **are 
hardly  kindred  studies. " 

*  *  Is  love  a  study  at  all  ? "  asked  Andrew,  bit- 
terly. "It  is  but  the  trail  of  idleness.  But  all 
idleness  is  folly  ;  therefore,  love  is  folly." 

Mr.  Eassie  was  not  so  keen  a  logician  as  his 
guest,  but  he  had  age  for  a  major  premise.  He 
was  easy-going  rather  than  a  coward ;  a  preacher 
who,  in  the  pulpit,  looked  difficulties  genially  in 
the  face,  and  passed  them  by. 

Riach  had  a  very  long  neck.  He  was  twenty- 
five  years  of  age,  fair,  and  somewhat  heavily 
built,  with  a  face  as  inexpressive  as  book-covers. 

A  native  of  Wheens  and  an  orphan,  he  had 
been  brought  up  by  his  uncle,  who  was  a  weaver 
and  read  Herodotus  in  the  original.  The  uncle 
starved  himself  to  buy  books  and  talk  about  them, 


196  BETTER  DEAD. 

until  one  day  he  got  a  good  meal,  and  died  of  it 
Then  Andrew  apprenticed  himself  to  a  tailor. 

When  his  time  was  out,  he  walked  fifty  miles 
to  Aberdeen  University,  and  got  a  bursary.  He 
had  been  there  a  month,  when  his  professor  said 
good-naturedly  : 

"Don't  you  think,  Mr.  Riach,  you  would  get 
on  better  if  you  took  your  hands  out  of  your 
pockets  ? " 

'  *  No,  sir,  I  don't  think  so,"  replied  Andrew,  in 
all  honesty. 

When  told  that  he  must  apologize,  he  did 
not  see  it,  but  was  willing  to  argue  the  matter 
out. 

Next  year  he  matriculated  at  Edinburgh,  sharing 
one  room  with  two  others,  studying  through  the 
night,  and  getting  their  bed  when  they  rose.  He 
was  a  failure  in  the  classics,  because  they  left  you 
where  you  were ;  but  in  his  third  year  he  woke 
the  logic  class-room,  and  frightened  the  professor 
of  moral  philosophy. 

He  was  nearly  rusticated  for  praying  at  a  de- 
bating society  for  a  divinity  professor  who  was  in 
the  chair. 

**  O  Lord  ! ''  he  cried  fervently,  "  open  his  eyes, 
guide  his  tottering  footsteps,  and  lead  him  from 
the  paths  of  folly  into  those  that  are  lovely  and  of 
good  report,  for  lo  !  his  days  are  numbered  and 
the  sickle  has  been  sharpened,  and  the  corn  is 
not  yet  ripe  for  the  cutting." 


BETTER  DEAD.  igj 

When  Andrew  graduated  he  was  known  as  a 
student  of  mark. 

He  returned  to  Wheens,  before  setting  out  for 
London,  with  a  consciousness  of  his  worth. 

Yet  he  was  only  born  to  follow,  and  his  chance 
of  making  a  noise  in  the  world  rested  on  his  meet- 
ing a  stronger  than  himself.  During  his  sum- 
mer vacations  he  had  weaved  sufficient  to  keep 
himself  during  the  winter  on  porridge  and  po- 
tatoes. 

Clarrie  was  beautiful  and  all  that. 

**  We'll  say  no  more  about  it,  then,''  the  min- 
ister said,  after  a  pause. 

"The  matter,"  replied  Andrew,  "cannot  be 
dismissed  in  that  way.  Reasonable  or  not,  I  do 
undoubtedly  experience  sensations  similar  to 
Clarrie's.  But  in  my  love  I  notice  a  distinct  ebb 
and  flow.  There  are  times  when  I  don't  care  a 
hang  for  her. " 

"Andrew!" 

"  I  beg  your  pardon.  Still,  it  is  you  who  have 
insisted  on  discussing  this  question  in  the  particu- 
lar instance.  Love  in  the  abstract  is  of  much 
greater  moment. " 

"I  have  sometimes  thought,  Andrew,"  Mr.  Eas- 
sie  said,  "That  you  are  lacking  in  the  imagina- 
tive faculty." 

"  In  other  words,  love  is  a  mere  fancy.  Grant 
that,  and  see  to  what  it  leads.  By  imagining 
that  I  have  Clarrie  with  me,  I  am  as  well  off  as  if 


198  BETTER  DEAD. 

I  really  had.     Why,  then,  should  I  go  to  needless 
expense,  and  take  her  from  you  ?  " 

The  white-haired  minister  rose,  for  the  ten 
o'clock  bell  was  ringing  and  it  was  time  for  family 
worship. 

"  My  boy,"  he  said,  *'  if  there  must  be  a  sacri- 
fice, let  the  old  man  make  it.  I,  too,  have  im- 
agination." 

For  the  moment  there  was  a  majesty  about  him 
that  was  foreign  to  his  usual  bearing.  Andrew 
was  touched,  and  gripped  his  hand.  "Rather," 
he  cried,  'Met  the  girl  we  both  love  remain  with 
you.  She  will  be  here  waiting  for  me — should  I 
return. " 

■'More  likely,"  said  the  minister,  ''she  will  be 
at  the  bank." 

The  banker  was  unmarried,  and  had  once  in 
February  and  again  in  June  seen  Clarrie  home 
from  the  Dorcas  Society.  The  town  talked  about 
it.  Strictly  speaking,  gentlemen  should  not  at- 
tend these  meetings ;  but  in  Wheens  there  was 
not  much  difference  between  the  men  and  the 
women. 

That  night,  as  Clarrie  bade  Andrew  farewell  at 
the  garden  gate,  he  took  her  head  in  his,  hands 
and  asked  what  this  talk  about  the  banker  meant. 
It  was  no  ignoble  curiosity  that  prompted  him. 
He  would  rather  have  got  engaged  to  her  there 
and  then  than  have  left  without  feeling  sure  of 
her. 


BETTER  DEAD.  199 

His  sweetheart  looked  her  reply  straight  into 
his  eyes. 

*' Andrew  !  "  was  all  she  said. 

It  was  sufficient.  He  knew  that  he  did  not  re- 
quire to  press  his  point. 

Lovers*  watches  stand  still.  At  last  Andrew 
stooped  and  kissed  her  upturned  face. 

'*Ifa  herring  and  a  half,"  he  said  anxiously, 
"cost  three  half-pence,  how  many  will  you  get 
for  eleven  pence  ?  " 

Clarrie  was  mute. 

Andrew  shuddered  ;  he  felt  that  he  was  making 
a  mistake. 

"  Why  do  I  kiss  you  ?  '*  he  cried.  '*  What  good 
does  it  do  either  of  us  ?  *' 

He  looked  fiercely  at  his  companion,  and  her 
eyes  filled  with  tears. 

* '  Where,  even,  is  the  pleasure  in  it  ?  "  he  added 
brutally. 

The  only  objectionable  thing  about  Clarrie  was 
her  long  hair. 

She  wore  a  black  frock  and  looked  very  break- 
able.    Nothing  irritates  a  man  so  much. 

Andrew  gathered  her  passionately  in  his  arms 
while  a  pained,  puzzled  expression  struggled  to 
reach  his  face. 

Then  he  replaced  her  roughly  on  the  ground 
and  left  her. 

It  was  impossible  to  say  whether  they  were 
engaged. 


200  BETTER  DEAD, 


CHAPTER  II. 

Andrew  reached  King's  Cross  on  the  following 
Wednesday  morning. 

It  was  the  first  time  he  had  set  foot  in  England, 
and  he  naturally  thought  of  Bannockburn. 

He  left  his  box  in  the  cloak-room,  and,  finding 
his  way  into  Bloomsbury,  took  a  bedroom  at  the 
top  of  a  house  in  Bernard  Street. 

Then  he  returned  for  his  box,  carried  it  on  his 
back  to  his  lodgings,  and  went  out  to  buy  a  straw 
hat.     It  had  not  struck  him  to  be  lonely. 

He  bought  two  pork  pies  in  an  eating  house  in 
Gray's  Inn  Road,  and  set  out  for  Harley  Street, 
looking  at  London  on  the  way. 

Mr.  Gladstone  was  at  home,  but  all  his  private 
secretaryships  were  already  filled. 

Andrew  was  not  greatly  disappointed,  though 
he  was  too  polite  to  say  so.  In  politics  he  was  a 
granite-headed  Radical ;  and  on  several  questions, 
such  as  the  Church  and  Free  Education,  the  two 
men  were  hopelessly  at  variance. 

Mr.  Chamberlain  was  the  man  with  whom,  on 
the  whole,  he  believed  it  would  be  best  to  work. 
But  Mr.  Chamberlain  could  not  even  see  him. 


BETTER  DEAD.  201 

Looking  back  to  this  time,  it  is  impossible  not 
to  speculate  upon  how  things  might  have  turned 
out  had  the  Radical  party  taken  Andrew  to  them 
in  his  day  of  devotion  to  their  cause. 

This  is  the  saddest  spectacle  in  life,  a  brave 
young  man's  first  meeting  with  the  world.  How 
rapidly  the  milk  turns  to  gall !  For  the  cruellest 
of  his  acts  the  vivisectionist  has  not  even  the  ex- 
cuse that  science  benefits. 

Here  was  a  young  Scotchman,  able,  pure,  of 
noble  ambition,  and  a  first-medallist  in  metaphy- 
sics. Genius  was  written  on  his  brow.  He 
may  have  written  it  himself  but  it  was  there. 

He  offered  to  take  a  pound  a  week  less  than 
any  other  secretary  in  London.  Not  a  Cabinet 
Minister  would  have  him.  Lord  Randolph 
Churchill  would  not  speak  to  him.  He  had  fifty- 
eight  testimonials  with  him.  They  would  neither 
read  nor  listen  to  them. 

He  could  not  fasten  a  quarrel  on  London,  for 
it  never  recognized  his  existence.  What  a  com- 
mentary on  our  vaunted  political  life  ! 

Andrew  tried  the  press. 

He  sent  one  of  the  finest  things  that  was  ever 
written,  on  the  *' Ontology  of  Being  "  to  paper 
after  paper,  and  it  was  never  used.  He  threat- 
ened the  Times  with  legal  proceedings  if  it  did 
not  return  the  manuscript. 

The  Standard  sent  him  somebody  else's  manu- 
script, and  seemed  to  think  it  would  do  as  well. 


202  BETTER  DEAD. 

In  a  fortnight  his  enthusiasm  had  been  bled  to 
death. 

His  testimonials  were  his  comfort  and  his  curse. 
He  would  have  committed  suicide  without  them, 
but  they  kept  him  out  of  situations. 

He  had  the  fifty-eight  by  heart,  and  went  over 
them  to  himself  all  day.  He  fell  asleep  with 
them,  and  they  were  there  when  he  woke. 

The  moment  he  found  himself  in  a  great  man's 
presence  he  began  : 

**From  the  Rev.  Peter  Mackay,  D.D.,  author 
of  'The  Disruption  Divines,'  Minister  of  Free  St. 
King's,  Dundee  : — I  have  much  pleasure  in  stat- 
ing that  I  have  known  Mr.  Andrew  Gordon  Cum- 
mings  Riach  for  many  years,  and  have  been  led 
to  form  a  high  opinion  of  his  ability.  In  the 
summer  of  i8 —  Mr.  Riach  had  entire  charge  of  a 
class  in  my  Sabbath-school,  when  I  had  ample 
opportunity  of  testing  his  efficiency,  unwearying 
patience,  exceptional  power  of  illustration,  and 
high  Christian  character,"  and  so  on.  ' 

Or  he  might  begin  at  the  beginning  : 

''Testimonials  in  favor  of  Andrew  G.  C.  Riach, 
M.  A.  (Edin.),  applicant  for  the  post  of  private 
secretary  to  any  one  of  her  Majesty's  Cabinet  Min- 
isters, 6  Candlish  Street,  Wheens,  N,  B. — I,  An- 
drew G.  C.  Riach,  beg  to  offer  myself  as  a  can- 
didate for  the  post  of  private  secretary,  and  submit 
the  following  testimonials  in  my  favor  for  your 
consideration.     I  am  twenty-five  years  of  age,  a 


BETTER  DEAD.  203 

Master  of  Arts  of  the  University  of  Edinburgh^ 
and  a  member  of  the  Free  Church  of  Scotland. 
At  the  university  I  succeeded  in  carrying  a 
bursary  of  ;f  14  los.  per  annum,  tenable  for  four 
years.  I  was  first-medallist  in  the  class  of  logic 
and  metaphysics,  thirteenth  prizeman  in  mathe- 
matics, and  had  a  certificate  of  merit  in  the  class 
of  natural  philosophy,  as  will  be  seen  from  my 
testimonials." 

However,  he  seldom  got  as  far  as  this. 

It  was  when  alone  that  these  testimonials  were 
his  truest  solace.  Had  you  met  him  in  the 
Strand  conning  them  over,  you  might  have  taken 
him  for  an  actor.  He  had  a  yearning  to  stop 
strangers  in  the  streets  and  try  a  testimonial's 
effect  on  them. 

Every  young  man  is  not  equally  unfortunate. 

Riach's  appearance  was  against  him. 

There  was  a  suggestion  of  latent  strength  about 
him  that  made  strangers  uncomfortable.  Even 
the  friends  who  thought  they  understood  him  liked 
him  to  go  away. 

Lord  Rosebery  made  several  jokes  to  him,  and 
Andrew  only  looked  at-  him  in  response.  The 
general  feeling  was  that  he  was  sneering  at  you 
somewhere  in  his  inside. 

Let  us  do  no  one  an  injustice. 

As  it  turned  out,  the  Cabinet  and  press  were 
but  being  used  in  this  case  as  the  means  to  an 
end. 


204  BETTER  DEAD. 

A  grand  work  lay  ready  for  Andrew's  hand 
when  he  was  fit  to  perform  it,  but  he  had  to  learn 
naked  truth  first.  It  was  ordained  that  they 
should  teach  it  him.  Providence  sometimes  makes 
use  of  strange  instruments. 

Riach  had  two  pounds  with  him  when  he  came 
to  London,  and  in  a  month  they  had  almost 
gone. 

Now  and  again  he  made  an  odd  five  shillings. 

Do  you  know  how  men  in  his  position  live  in 
London  ? 

He  could  not  afford  the  profession  of  not  having 
any. 

At  one  time  he  was  a  phrasemonger  for  politi- 
cians, especially  for  the  Irish  members,  who  were 
the  only  ones  that  paid. 

Some  of  his  phrases  have  become  parliament- 
ary. Thus,  "  Buckshot  "  was  his.  "Mend  them 
—End  them,"  ''Grand  Old  Man,"  and  ''Legisla- 
tion by  Picnic "  may  all  be  traced  to  the  strug- 
gling young  man  from  Wheens.* 

He  supplied  the  material  for  obituary  notices. 

When  the  newspaper  placards  announced  the 
serious  illness  of  a  distinguished  man,  he  made 
up  characteristic  anecdotes  about  his  childhood, 
his  reputation  at  school,  his  first  love,  and  sent 
them,   as  the  reminiscences  of  a  friend,  to  the 

*  Some  time  afterward  Lord  Rosebery  convulsed  an  audi- 
ence by  a  story  about  a  friend  of  his  who  complained  that 
you  get  "  no  f orrarder  "  on  claret.    Andrew  was  that  friend. 


BETTER  DEAD.  205 

great  London  dailies.  These  were  the  only- 
things  of  his  they  used.  As  often  as  not,  the  in- 
valid got  better,  and  then  Andrew  went  without 
a  dinner. 

Once  he  offered  his  services  to  a  Conservative 
statesman ;  at  another  time  he  shot  himself  in 
the  coat  in  Northumberland  Street,  Strand,  to 
oblige  an  evening  paper  (five  shillings). 

He  fainted  in  the  pit  of  a  theatre  to  the  bribe 
of  an  emotional  tragedian  (a  guinea). 

He  assaulted  a  young  lady  and  her  aunt  with 
a  view  to  robbery,  in  a  quiet  thoroughfare,  by  ar- 
rangement with  a  young  gentleman,  who  rescued 
them  and  made  him  run  (ten  shillings). 

It  got  into  the  papers  that  he  had  fled  from  the 
wax  policeman  at  Tussaud's  (half-a-crown). 

More  than  once  he  sold  his  body  in  advance  to 
the  doctors,  and  was  never  able  to  buy  it  out.* 

It  would  be  a  labor,  thankless  as  impossible, 
to  recover  now  all  the  devices  by  which  Andrew 
disgraced  his  manhood  during  these  weeks  rather 
than  die.  As  well  count  the  "drinks"  an  actor 
has  in  a  day. 

It  is  not  our  part  to  climb  down  into  the  depths 
after  him.  He  reappeared  eventually,  or  this 
record  would  never  have  been  written, 

*  He  had  fine  ideas,  but  no  money  to  work  them  out.  One 
was  to  start  a  serious  Spectator  on  the  lines  of  the  present  one, 
but  not  so  flippant  and  frivolous. 


2o6  BETTER  DEAD. 

During  this  period  of  gloom,  Clarrie  wrote  him 
frequently  long  and  tender  epistles. 

More  strictly,  the  minister  wrote  them,  for  he 
had  the  gift  of  beautiful  sentiment  in  letters,  which 
had  been  denied  to  her. 

She  copied  them,  however,  and  signed  them, 
and  they  were  a  great  consolation. 

The  love  of  a  good  girl  is  a  priceless  posses- 
sion, or  rather,  in  this  case,  of  a  good  minister. 

So  long  as  you  do  not  know  which,  it  does  not 
make  much  difference. 

At  times  Andrew's  reason  may  have  been  un- 
hinged, less  on  account  of  his  reverses  than  be- 
cause no  one  spoke  to  him. 

There  were  days  and  nights  when  he  rushed  all 
over  London. 

In  the  principal  streets  the  stoHd-faced  Scotch- 
man in  a  straw  hat  became  a  familiar  figure. 

Strange  fancies  held  him.  He  stood  for  an  hour 
at  a  time  looking  at  his  face  in  a  shop- window. 

The  bootblacks  pointed  at  him  and  he  disap- 
peared down  passages. 

He  shook  his  fist  at  the  'bus  conductors,  who 
would  not  leave  him  alone. 

In  the  yellow  night,  policemen  drew  back 
scared  as  he  hurried  past  them  on  his  way  to 
nowhere. 

In  the  day-time  Oxford  Street  was  his  favorite 
thoroughfare.     He    was    very   irritable    at    this 


BETTER  DEAD.  207 

time,  and  could  not  leave  his  fellow-wayfarers 
alone. 

More  than  once  he  poked  his  walking-stick 
through  the  eyeglass  of  a  brave  young  gentle- 
man. 

He  would  turn  swiftly  round  to  catch  people 
looking  at  him. 

When  a  small  boy  came  in  his  way,  he  took 
him  by  the  neck  and  planted  him  on  the  curb- 
stone. 

If  a  man  approached  simpering,  Andrew  stop- 
ped and  gazed  at  him.  The  smile  went  from  the 
stranger's  face ;  he  blushed  or  looked  fierce. 
When  he  turned  round,  Andrew  still  had  his  eye 
on  him.     Sometimes  he  came  bouncing  back. 

* '  What  are  you  so  confoundly  happy  about  ?  " 
Andrew  asked. 

When  he  found  a  crowd  gazing  in  at  a  '*  while 
you  wait "  shop  window,  or  entranced  over  the 
paving  of  a  street — 

"Splendid,  isn't  it?"  he  said  to  the  person 
nearest  him. 

He  dropped  a  penny,  which  he  could  ill  spare, 
into  the  hat  of  an  exquisite  who  annoyed  him  by 
his  way  of  lifting  it  to  a  lady. 

When  he  saw  a  man  crossing  the  street  too 
daintily,  he  ran  after  him  and  hit  him  over  the 
legs. 

Even  on  his  worst  days  his  reasoning  powers 


2o8  BETTER  DEAD. 

never  left  him.  Once  a  mother  let  her  child  slip 
from  her  arms  to  the  pavement. 

She  gave  a  shriek. 

"My  good  woman,"  said  Andrew,  testily, 
"  what  difference  can  one  infant  in  the  world 
more  or  less  make  ?  " 

We  come  now  to  an  eccentricity,  engendered 
of  loneliness,  that  altered  the  whole  course  of  his 
life.  Want  had  battered  down  his  door.  Truth 
had  been  evolved  from  despair.  He  was  at  last 
to  have  a  flash  into  salvation. 

To  give  an  object  to  his  walks  abroad  he  would 
fasten  upon  a  wayfarer  and  follow  him  till  he  ran 
him  to  his  destination.  Chance  led  to  his  select- 
ing one  quarry  rather  than  another.  He  would 
dog  a  man's  footsteps,  struck  by  the  glossiness  of 
his  boots,  or  to  discover  what  he  was  in  such  a 
hurry  about,  or  merely  because  he  had  a  good 
back  to  follow.  Probably  he  seldom  knew  what 
attracted  him,  and  sometimes  when  he  realized 
the  pursuit  he  gave  it  up. 

On  these  occasions  there  was  one  person  only 
who  really  interested  him.  This  was  a  man, 
somewhat  over  middle  age,  of  singularly  noble 
and  distinguished  bearing.  His  brow  was  fur- 
rowed with  lines,  but  they  spoke  of  cares  of  the 
past.  Benevolence  had  settled  on  his  face.  It 
was  as  if,  after  a  weary  struggle,  the  sun  had 
broken  through  the  heavy  clouds.  He  was  attired 
in  the  ordinary  dress  of  an  English  gentleman  ; 


BETTER  DEAD,  209 

but  once,  when  he  raised  his  head  to  see  if  it 
rained,  Andrew  noticed  that  he  only  wore  a 
woollen  shirt,  without  a  neck-tie.  As  a  rule,  his 
well-trimmed  venerable  beard  hid  this  from  view. 

He  seemed  a  man  of  unostentatious  means. 
Andrew  lost  him  in  Drury  Lane  and  found  him 
again  in  Piccadilly.  He  was  generally  alone, 
never  twice  with  the  same  person.  His  business 
was  scattered,  or  it  was  his  pleasure  that  kept 
him  busy.  He  struck  the  observer  as  always 
being  on  the  outlook  for  some  one  who  did  not 
come. 

Why  attempt  to  account  for  the  nameless  fas- 
cination he  exercised  over  the  young  Scotchman  ? 
We  speak  lightly  of  mesmeric  influence,  but,  after 
all,  there  is  only  one  mesmerist  for  youth — a  good 
woman  or  a  good  man.  Depend  upon  it,  that  is 
why  so  many  *'  mesmerists"  have  mistaken  their 
vocation.  Andrew  took  to  prowling  about  the 
streets  looking  for  this  man,  like  a  dog  that  has 
lost  its  master. 

The  day  came  when  they  met. 

Andrew  was  returning  from  the  Crystal  Palace, 
which  he  had  been  viewing  from  the  outside. 
He  had  walked  both  ways. 

Just  as  he  rounded  the  upper  end  of  Chancery 
Lane,  a  man  walking  rapidly  struck  against  him, 
whirled  him  aside,  and  hurried  on. 

The  day  was  done,  but  as  yet  the  lamps  only 
dimmed  the  streets. 
14 


210  BETTER  DEAD. 

Andrew  had  been  dreaming,  and  the  jerk  woke 
him  to  the  roar  of  London. 

It  was  as  if  he  had  taken  his  fingers  from  his 
ears. 

He  staggered,  dazed,  against  a  'bus-horse,  but 
the  next  moment  he  was  in  pursuit  of  the  stran- 
ger. It  was  but  a  continuation  of  his  dream. 
He  felt  that  something  was  about  to  happen.  He 
had  never  seen  this  man  disturbed  before. 

Chancery  Lane  swarmed  with  lawyers,  but  if 
they  had  not  made  way  Andrew  would  have 
walked  over  them. 

He  clove  his  way  between  those  walking 
abreast,  and  struck  down  an  arm  extended  to 
point  out  the  Law  Courts.  When  he  neared  the 
stranger,  he  slightly  slackened  his  pace,  but  it 
was  a  stampede  even  then. 

Suddenly  the  pursued  came  to  a  dead  stop  and 
gazed  for  twenty  minutes  in  at  a  pastry-cook  s 
window.  Andrew  waited  for  him.  Then  they 
started  off  again,  much  more  leisurely. 

They  turned  Chancery  Lane  almost  together. 
All  this  time  Andrew  had  failed  to  catch  sight  of 
the  other's  face. 

He  stopped  twice  in  the  Strand  for  a  few  min- 
utes. 

At  Charing  Cross  he  seemed  for  a  moment  at  a 
loss.  Then  he  sprang  across  the  street,  and  went 
back  the  way  he  came. 

It  was  now  for  the  first  time  that  a  strange  no- 


BETTER  DEAD.  21 1 

tion  illumined  Andrew's  brain.  It  bewildered 
him,  and  left  him  in  darkness  the  next  moment 
But  his  blood  was  running  hot  now,  and  his  eyes 
were  glassy. 

They  turned  down  Arundel  Street. 

It  was  getting  dark.  There  were  not  a  dozen 
people  in  the  narrow  thoroughfare. 

His  former  thought  leaped  back  into  Andrew's 
mind — not  a  fancy  now,  but  a  fact.  The  stran- 
ger was  following  some  one  too. 

For  what  purpose  ?     His  own  ? 

Andrew  did  not  put  the  question  to  himself. 

There  were  not  twenty  yards  between  the  three 
of  them. 

What  Riach  saw  in  front  was  a  short  stout  man 
proceeding  cheerfully  down  the  street.  He  de- 
layed in  a  doorway  to  light  a  cigar,  and  the 
stranger  stopped  as  if  turned  to  stone. 

Andrew  stopped  too. 

They  were  like  the  wheels  of  a  watch.  The 
first  wheel  moved  on,  and  set  the  others  going 
again. 

For  a  hundred  yards  or  more  they  walked  in 
procession  in  a  westerly  direction  without  meet- 
ing a  human  being.  At  last  the  first  of  the  trio 
half  turned  on  his  heel  and  leaned  over  the  em- 
bankment. 

Riach  drew  back  into  the  shade,  just  before  the 
stranger  took  a  lightning  glance  behind  him. 

The  young  man  saw  his  face   now.     It  was 


212  BETTER  DEAD, 

never  fuller  of  noble  purpose ;  yet  why  did  An- 
drew cry  out  ? 

The  next  moment  the  stranger  had  darted  for- 
ward, slipped  his  arm  round  the  little  man's  legs 
and  toppled  him  into  the  river. 

There  was  a  splash,  but  no  shriek. 

Andrew  bounded  forward,  but  the  stranger  held 
him  by  one  hand.  His  clear  blue  eyes  looked 
down  a  little  wistfully  upon  the  young  Scotch- 
man, who  never  felt  the  fascination  of  a  master- 
mind more  than  at  that  moment.  As  if  feeling  his 
power,  the  elder  man  relaxed  his  hold  and  pointed 
to  the  spot  where  his  victim  had  disappeared. 

''He  was  a  good  man,"  he  said,  more  to  him- 
self than  to  Andrew,  "and  the  world  has  lost  a 
great  philanthropist ;  but  he  is  better  as  he  is. " 

Then  he  lifted  a  paving-stone,  and  peered  long 
and  earnestly  into  the  waters. 

The  short,  stout  man,  however,  did  not  rise 
again. 


BETTER  DEAD,  213 


CHAPTER  III. 

Lost  in  reverie,  the  stranger  stood  motionless 
on  the  embankment.  The  racket  of  the  city  was 
behind  him.  At  his  feet  lay  a  drowned  world,  its 
lights  choking  in  the  Thames.  It  was  London, 
as  it  will  be  on  the  last  day. 

With  an  effort  he  roused  himself  and  took 
Andrew's  arm. 

*'The  body  will  soon  be  recovered,"  he  said  in 
a  voice  of  great  dejection,  ''  and  people  will  talk. 
Let  us  go." 

They  retraced  their  steps  up  Arundel  Street. 

**Now,"  said  Andrew's  companion,  "tell  me 
who  you  are. " 

Andrew  would  have  preferred  to  hear  who  the 
stranger  was.  In  the  circumstances  he  felt  that 
he  had  almost  a  right  to  know.  But  this  was  not 
a  man  to  brook  interference. 

*'If  you  will  answer  me  one  question,"  the 
young  Scotchman  said  humbly,  "I  shall  tell  you 
everything. " 

His  reveries  had  made  Andrew  quick-witted, 
and  he  had  the  judicial  mind  which  prevents  one's 
judging  another  rashly.     Besides,  his  hankering 


214  BETTER  DEAD. 

after  this  man  had  already  suggested  an  exculpa- 
tion for  him. 

*'  You  are  a  Radical  ? "  he  asked  eagerly. 

The  stranger's  brows  contracted.  "  Young 
man,"  he  said,  ''though  all  the  Radicals  and 
Liberals  and  Conservatives  who  ever,  addressed 

the  House  of  Commons  were  in ,  I  would  not 

stoop  to  pick  them  up,  though  I  could  gather 
them  by  the  gross." 

He  said  this  without  an  Irish  accent,  and  An- 
drew felt  that  he  had  better  begin  his  story  at 
once. 

He  told  everything. 

As  his  tale  neared  its  conclusion,  his  compan- 
ion scanned  him  narrowly. 

If  the  stranger's  magnanimous  countenance  did 
not  beam  down  in  sympathy  upon  the  speaker,  it 
was  because  surprise  and  gratification  filled  it. 

Only  once  an  ugly  look  came  into  his  eyes. 
That  was  when  Andrew  had  reached  the  middle 
of  his  second  testimonial. 

The  young  man  saw  the  look,  and  at  the  same 
time  felt  the  hold  on  his  arm  become  a  grip. 

His  heart  came  into  his  mouth.  He  gulped  it 
down,  and,  with  what  was  perhaps  a  judicious 
sacrifice,  jumped  the  remainder  of  his  testimo- 
nials. 

When  the  stranger  heard  how  he  had  been 
tracked  through  the  streets,  he  put  his  head  to  the 
side  to  think. 


I 


BETTER  DEAD.  215 

It  was  a  remarkable  compliment  to  his  abstrac- 
tion that  Andrew  paused  involuntarily  in  his  story 
and  waited. 

He  felt  that  his  future  was  in  the  balance. 
Those  sons  of  peers  may  faintly  realize  his  position 
whose  parents  have  hesitated  whether  to  make 
statesmen  or  cattle-dealers  of  them. 

**  I  don't  mind  telling  you,"  the  stranger  said 
at  last,  "  that  your  case  has  been  under  considera- 
tion. When  we  left  the  embankment  my  inten- 
tion was  to  dispose  of  you  in  a  doorway.  But 
your  story  moves  me  strangely.  Could  I  be  cer- 
tain that  you  felt  the  sacredness  of  human  life — 
as  I  fear  no  boy  can  feel  it — I  should  be  tempted 
to  ask  you  instead  to  become  one  of  us." 

There  was  something  in  this  remark  about  the 
sacredness  of  human  life  that  was  not  what 
Andrew  expected,  and  his  answer  died  un- 
spoken. 

**  Youth,"  continued  the  stranger,  *'  is  enthusi- 
asm, but  not  enthusiasm  in  a  straight  line.  We  are 
impotent  in  directing  it,  like  a  boy  with  a  toy 
engine.  How  carefully  the  child  sets  it  off,  how 
soon  it  goes  off  the  rails  !  So  youth  is  wrecked. 
The  slightest  obstacle  sends  it  off  at  a  tangent. 
The  vital  force  expended  in  a  wrong  direction  does 
evil  instead  of  good.  You  know  the  story  of 
Atalanta.  It  has  always  been  misread.  She  was 
the  type  not  of  woman  but  of  youth,  and  Hip- 
pomenes    personated  age.     He    was    the    slow 


2l6  BETTER  DEAD. 

runner,  but  he  won  the  race  ;  and  yet  how  beauti- 
ful, even  where  it  runs  to  riot,  must  enthusiasm 
be  in  such  a  cause  as  ours  !  " 

**If  Atalanta  had  been  Scotch,"  said  Andrew, 
''she  would  not  have  lost  that  race  for  a  pound 
of  apples. " 

The  stranger  regarded  him  longingly,  like  a 
father  only  prevented  by  state  reasons  from  em- 
bracing his  son. 

He  murmured  something  that  Andrew  hardly 
caught. 

It  sounded  like  : 

''Atalanta  would  have  been  better  dead." 

"Your  nationality  is  in  your  favor,"  he  said, 
"  and  you  have  served  your  apprenticeship  to  our 
calling.  You  have  been  tending  toward  us  ever 
since  you  came  to  London.  You  are  an  apple  ripe 
for  plucking,  and  if  you  are  not  plucked  now  you 
will  fall.  I  would  fain  take  you  by  the  hand,  and 
yet " 

"And  yet?" 

"And  yet  I  hesitate.  You  seem  a  youth  of  the 
fairest  promise ;  but  how  often  have  I  let  these 
impulses  deceive  me  !  You  talk  of  logic,  but  is 
it  more  than  talk  ?  Man,  they  say,  is  a  reason- 
able being.  They  are  wrong.  He  is  only  a  being 
capable  of  reason." 

"Try  me,"  said  Andrew. 

The  stranger  resumed  in  a  lower  key. 

"  You  do  not  understand  what  you  ask  as  yet," 


BETTER  DEAD.  217 

he  said  ;   "still  less  what  we  would  ask  in  return 
of  you. " 

**I  have  seen  something  to-day,"  said  Andrew. 

*'  But  you  are  mistaken  in  its  application.  You 
think  I  followed  the  man  lately  deceased  as  per- 
tinaciously as  you  followed  me.  You  are  wrong. 
When  you  met  me  in  Chancery  Lane,  I  was  in 
pursuit  of  a  gentleman  to  whose  case  I  have 
devoted  myself  for  several  days.  It  has  interested 
me  much.  There  is  no  reason  why  I  should  con- 
ceal his  name.  It  is  one  honored  in  this  country, 
Sir  Wilfrid  Lawson.  He  looked  in  on  his  man  of 
business,  which  delayed  me  at  the  shop  window 
of  which  you  have  spoken.  I  waited  for  him, 
and  I  thought  I  had  him  this  time.  But  you  see 
I  lost  him  in  the  Strand  after  all. " 

"But  the  other,  then,"  Andrew  asked,  ''who 
was  he  ?  " 

' '  Oh,  I  picked  him  up  at  Charing  Cross.  He 
was  better  dead. " 

"1  think,"  said  Andrew  hopefully,  "that  my 
estimate  of  the  sacredness  of  human  life  is  suf- 
ficiently high  for  your  purpose.  If  that  is  the 
only  point " 

"Ah,  they  all  say  that  until  they  join.  I  remem- 
ber an  excellent  young  man  who  came  among  us 
for  a  time.  He  seemed  discreet  beyond  his  years, 
and  we  expected  great  things  of  him.  But  it  was 
the  old  story.  For  young  men  the  cause  is  as 
demoralizing  as  boarding-schools  are  for  girls." 


2l8  BETTER  DEAD. 

''What  did  he  do?" 

"  It  went  to  his  head.  He  took  a  bedroom  in 
Pall  Mall  and  sat  at  the  window  with  an  electric 
rifle  picking  them  off  on  the  door-steps  of  the 
clubs.  It  was  a  noble  idea,  but  of  course  it  im- 
perilled the  very  existence  of  the  society.  He 
was  a  curate." 

"What  became  of  him  ?  "  asked  Andrew. 

**  He  is  better  dead,"  said  the  stranger,  softly. 

*'And  the  society  you  speak  of,  what  is  it?  " 

''TheS.   D.  W.   S.   P." 

''TheS.  D.  W.  S.  P.?" 

"Yes,  the  Society  for  Doing  Without  Some 
People." 

They  were  in  Holburn,  but  turned  up  South- 
ampton Row  for  quiet. 

"You  have  told  me,"  said  the  stranger,  now 
speaking  rapidly,  "that  at  times  you  have  felt 
tempted  to  take  your  life,  that  life  for  which  you 
will  one  day  have  to  account.  Suicide  is  the 
coward's  refuge.  You  are  miserable  ?  When  a 
young  man  knows  that,  he  is  happy.  Misery  is 
but  preparing  for  an  old  age  of  delightful  re- 
miniscence. You  say  that  London  has  no  work 
for  you,  that  the  functions  to  which  you  looked 
forward  are  everywhere  discharged  by  another. 
That  need  not  drive  you  to  despair.  If  it  proves 
that  some  one  should  die,  does  it  necessarily 
follow  that  the  some  one  is  you  ? " 

"  But  is  not  the  other's  life  as  sacred  as  mine  ? " 


BETTER  DEAD.  219 

''That  is  his  concern." 

"Then  you  would  have  me " 

"Certainly  not.  You  are  a  boxer  without 
employment,  whom  I  am  showing  what  to  hit. 
In  such  a  case  as  yours  the  society  would  be  re- 
presented by  a  third  party,  whose  decision  would 
be  final.  As  an  interested  person  you  would  have 
to  stand  aside." 

"  I  don't  understand." 

' '  The  arbitrator  would  settle  if  you  should  go. " 

Andrew  looked  blank. 

"Go.?"  he  repeated. 

"  It  is  a  euphemism  for  die,"  said  his  companion 
a  little  impatiently.  "This  is  a  trivial  matter,  and 
hardly  worth  going  into  at  any  length.  It  shows 
our  process,  however,  and  the  process  reveals  the 
true  character  of  the  organization.  As  I  have 
already  mentioned,  the  society  takes  for  its  first 
principal  the  sanctity  of  human  life.  Every  one 
who  has  mixed  much  among  his  fellow-creatures 
must  be  aware  that  this  is  adulterated,  so  to  speak, 
by  numbers  of  spurious  existences.  Many  of 
these  are  a  nuisance  to  themselves.  Others  may 
at  an  earlier  period  have  been  lives  of  great  prom- 
ise and  fulfilment.  In  the  case  of  the  latter,  how 
sad  to  think  that  they  should  be  dragged  out  into 
worthlessness  or  dishonor,  all  for  want  of  a 
friendly  hand  to  snap  them  short !  In  the  lower 
form  of  life  the  process  of  preying  upon  animals 
whose  work  is  accomplished— that,  is,  of  weeding 


220  BETTER  DEAD. 

— goes  on  continually.  Man  must,  of  course,  be 
more  cautious.  The  grand  function  of  the  society 
is  to  find  out  the  persons  who  have  a  claim  on  it, 
and  in  the  interests  of  humanity  to  lay  their  con- 
dition before  them.  After  that,  it  is  in  the  ma- 
jority of  cases  for  themselves  to  decide  whether 
they  will  go  or  stay  on. " 

"But,"  said  Andrew,  *'had  the  gentleman  in 
the  Thames  consented  to  go?" 

*'No,  that  was  a  case  where  assistance  had  to 
be  given.     He  had  been  sounded,  though." 

"And  do  you  find,"  asked  Andrew,  "  that  many 
of  them  are — agreeable  ?  " 

"I  admit,"  said  the  stranger,  "that  so  far  that 
has  been  our  chief  difficulty.  Even  the  men  we 
looked  upon  as  certainties  have  fallen  short  of 
our  expectations.  There  is  Mallock  now,  who 
said  that  life  was  not  worth  living.  I  called  on 
him  only  last  week,  fully  expecting  him  to  meet 
me  half  way.  '* 

"And  he  didn't?" 

"Mallock  was  a  great  disappointment,"  said 
the  stranger,  with  genuine  pain  in  his  voice. 

He  liked  Mallock. 

"However,"  he  added,  brightening,  "his  case 
comes  up  for  hearing  at  the  next  meeting.  If  I 
have  two-thirds  of  the  vote  we  proceed  with  it. " 

"But  how  do  the  authorities  take  it?"  asked 
Andrew. 

"  Pooh  !  "  said  the  stranger. 


BETTER  DEAD.  221 

Andrew,  however,  could  not  think  so. 

**It  is  against  the  law,  you  know,"  he  said. 

**The  law  winks  at  it,"  the  stranger  said. 
**Law  has  its  feelings  as  well  as  we.  We  have 
two  London  magistrates  and  a  minister  on  the 
executive,  and  the  lord  chief  justice  is  an  honorary- 
member.  " 

Andrew  raised  his  eyes. 

*'This,  of  course,  is  private,"  continued  the 
stranger.  "These  men  join  on  the  understand- 
ing that  if  any  thing  comes  out  they  deny  all  con- 
nection with  us.  But  they  have  the  thing  at 
heart.  I  have  here  a  very  kind  letter  from  Glad- 
stone  " 

He  felt  in  his  pockets. 

*'I  seem  to  have  left  it  at  home.  However, 
its  purport  was  that  he  hoped  we  would  not 
admit  Lord  Salisbury  an  honorary  member." 

''Why  not?" 

' '  Well,  the  society  has  power  to  take  from  its 
numbers  so  far  as  ordinary  members  are  con- 
cerned, but  it  is  considered  discourteous  to  reduce 
the  honorary  list. " 

"Then  why  have  honorary  members.?"  asked 
Andrew,  in  a  burst  of  enthusiasm. 

"It  is  a  necessary  precaution.  They  subscribe 
largely  too.  Indeed,  the  association  is  now 
established  on  a  sound  commercial  basis.  We 
are  paying  six  per  cent. " 

"None  of  these  American  preachers  who  come 


222  BETTER  DEAD. 

over  to  this  country   are  honorary    members?" 
asked  Andrew,  anxiously. 

"No;  one  of  them  made  overtures  to  us,  but 
we  would  not  listen  to  him. " 

"Why.?" 

"Oh,  nothing,"  said  Andrew. 

"To  do  the  honorary  list  justice,'*  said  his 
companion,  "it  gave  us  one  fine  fellow  in  our 
honorary  president.     He  is  dead  now. " 

Andrew  looked  up. 

"No,  we  had  nothing  to  do  with  it.  It  was 
Thomas  Carlyle." 

Andrew  raised  his  hat. 

"Though  he  was  over  eighty  years  of  age," 
continued  the  stranger,  "Carlyle  would  hardly  rest 
content  with  merely  giving  us  his  countenance. 
He  wanted  to  be  a  working  member.  It  was  he 
who  mentioned  Froude's  name  to  us." 

"For  honorary  membership  .?  " 

"Not  at  all.  Froude  would  hardly  have  com- 
pleted the  '  Reminiscences  '  had  it  not  been  that 
we  could  never  make  up  our  minds  between  him 
and  Freeman." 

Youth  is  subject  to  sudden  fits  of  despondency. 
Its  hopes  go  up  and  down  like  a  bucket  in  a  draw- 
well. 

"They'll  never  let  me  join,"  cried  Andrew, 
sorrowfully. 

His  companion  pressed  his  hand. 

"  Three  black  balls  exclude,"  he  said,  ''but  you. 


BETTER  DEAD,  223 

have  the  president  on  your  side.  With  my  in- 
troduction you  will  be  admitted  a  probationer, 
and  after  that  everything  depends  on  yourself." 

*'I  thought  you  must  be  the  president,  from 
the  first,"  said  Andrew,  reverently. 

He  had  not  felt  so  humble  since  the  first  day  he 
went  to  the  university  and  walked  past  and  re- 
past it,  frightened  to  go  in. 

"How  long,"  he  asked,  *'does  the  period  of 
probation  last .? " 

"Three  months.  Then  you  send  in  a  thesis, 
and  if  it  is  considered  satisfactory  you  become  a 
member. " 

"And  if  it  isn't?" 

The  president  did  not  say. 

"A  thesis,"  he  said,  **  is  generally  a  paper  with 
a  statement  of  the  line  of  action  you  propose  to 
adopt,  subject  to  the  society's  approval.  Each 
member  has  his  specialty — as  law,  art,  divinity, 
literature,  and  the  like." 

"  Does  the  probationer  devote  himself  exclu- 
sively during  these  three  months  to  his  thesis  .?  " 

"On  the  contrary,  he  never  has  so  much  lib- 
erty as  at  this  period.  He  is  expected  to  be  prac- 
tising." 

"Practising?" 

"Well,  experimenting,  getting  his  hand  in,  so 
to  speak.  The  member  acts  under  instructions 
only,  but  the  probationer  just  does  what  he  thinks 
best." 


224  BETTER  DEAD. 

''There  is  a  man  on  my  stair,"  said  Andrew, 
after  a  moment's  consideration,  "who  asks  his 
friends  in  every  Friday  night,  and  recites  to  them 
with  his  door  open.  I  think  I  should  like  to  be- 
gin with  him." 

"As  a  society  we  do  not  recognize  these  pri- 
vate cases.  The  public  gain  is  so  infinitesimal. 
We  had  one  probationer  who  constructed  a  very 
ingenious  water-butt  for  boys.  Another  had  a 
scheme  for  clearing  the  streets  of  the  people  who 
get  in  the  way.  He  got  into  trouble  about  some 
perambulators.     Let  me  see  your  hands." 

They  stopped  at  a  lamp-post. 

"They  are  large,  which  is  an  advantage,"  said 
the  president,  fingering  Andrew's  palms;  "but 
are  they  supple  ?  " 

Andrew  had  thought  very  little  about  it,  and 
he  did  not  quite  comprehend. 

"The  hands,"  explained  the  president,  "are 
perhaps  the  best  natural  weapon,  but  of  course 
there  are  different  ways  of  doing  it." 

The  young  Scotchman's  brain,  however,  could 
not  keep  pace  with  his  companion  s  words,  and 
the  president  looked  about  him  for  an  illustration. 

They  stopped  at  Gower  Street  station  and 
glanced  at  the  people  coming  out. 

None  of  them  was  of  much  importance,  but 
the  president  left  them  alone. 

Andrew  saw  what  he  meant  now,  and  could 
not  but  admire  his  forbearance. 


BETTER  DEAD.  225 

They  turned  away,  but  just  as  they  emerged 
into  the  blaze  of  Tottenham  Court  Road  they  ran 
into  two  men,  warmly  shaking  hands  with  each 
other  before  they  parted. 

One  of  them  wore  an  eye-glass. 

"Chamberlain!"  exclaimed  the  president, 
rushing  after  him. 

'*  Did  you  recognize  the  other  ? "  said  Andrew 
panting  at  his  heels. 

"No  !  who  was  it?" 

'•■  Stead,  of  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette. " 

"Great  God,"  cried  the  president,  "two  at  a 
time ! " 

He  turned  and  ran  back.     Then  he  stopped 
irresolutely.     He  could  not  follow  the  one  for 
thought  of  the  other. 
15 


2  26  BETTER  DEAD, 


CHAPTER  IV. 

The  London  cabman's  occupation  consists  in 
dodging  thoroughfares  under  repair. 

Numbers  of  dingy  streets  have  been  flung  about 
to  help  him.  There  is  one  of  these  in  Blooms- 
bury,  which  was  originally  discovered  by  a  stu- 
dent while  looking  for  the  British  Museum.  It 
runs  a  hundred  yards  in  a  straight  line,  then  stops 
like  a  stranger  who  has  lost  his  way,  and  hurries 
by  another  route  out  of  the  neighborhood. 

The  houses  are  dull,  except  one,  just  where  it 
doubles,  w^hich  is  gloomy. 

This  house  is  divided  into  sets  of  chambers, 
and  has  a  new  frontage,  but  it  no  longer  lets 
well.  A  few  years  ago  there  were  two  funerals 
from  it  within  a  fortnight,  and  soon  afterward 
another  of  the  tenants  was  found  at  the  foot  of 
the  stairs  with  his  neck  broken.  These  fatalities 
gave  the  house  a  bad  name,  as  such  things  do  in 
London. 

It  was  here  that  Andrew  s  patron,  the  president, 
lived. 

To  the  outcast  from  work,  to  g^i  an  object  in 
life  is  to  be  born  again.     Andrew  bustled  to  the 


BETTER  DEAD.  227 

president's  chambers  on  the  Saturday  night  fol- 
lowing the  events  already  described,  with  his 
chest  well  set. 

His  springy  step  echoed  of  wages  in  the  hearts 
of  the  unemployed.  Envious  eyes,  following  his 
swaggering  staff,  could  not  see  that  but  a  few 
days  before  he  had  been  as  the  thirteenth  person 
at  a  dinner-party. 

Such  a  change  does  society  bring  about  when 
it  empties  a  chair  for  the  superfluous  man. 

It  may  be  wondered  that  he  felt  so  sure  of  him- 
self, for  the  night  had  still  to  decide  his  claims. 

Andrew,  however,  had  thought  it  all  out  in  his 
solitary  lodgings,  and  had  put  fear  from  him.  He 
felt  his  failings  and  allo.wed  for  every  one  of  them, 
but  he  knew  his  merits  too,  and  his  testimonials 
were  in  his  pocket.  Strength  of  purpose  was  his 
weak  point,  and,  though  the  good  of  humanity 
was  his  load-star,  it  did  not  make  him  quite  forget 
self 

It  may  not  be  possible  to  serve  both  God  and 
mammon,  but  since  Adam  the  world  has  been  at 
it.     We  ought  to  know  by  this  time. 

The  Society  for  Doing  Without  was  as  immoral 
as  it  certainly  was  illegal.  The  president's  mo- 
•tives  were  not  more  disinterested  than  his  ac- 
tions were  defensible.  He  even  deserved  punish- 
ment. 

All  these  things  may  be.  The  great  social  ques- 
tion is  not  to  be  solved  in  a  day.     It  never  will 


228  BETTER  DEAD. 

be  solved  if  those  who  take  it  by  the  beard  are 
not  given  an  unbiassed  hearing. 

Those  were  the  young  Scotchman's  views  when 
the  president  opened  the  door  to  him,  and  what 
he  saw  and  heard  that  night  strengthened  them. 

It  was  characteristic  of  Andrew's  host  that  at 
such  a  time  he  could  put  himself  in  the  young 
man's  place. 

He  took  his  hand  and  looked  him  in  the  face 
more  like  a  physician  than  a  mere  acquaintance. 
Then  he  drew  him  aside  into  an  empty  room. 

"Let  me  be  the  first  to  congratulate  you,"  he 
said;  ''you  are  admitted." 

Andrew  took  a  long  breath,  and  the  president 
considerately  turned  away  his  head  until  the 
young  probationer  had  regained  his  composure. 
Then  he  proceeded  : 

"The  society  only  asks  from  its  probationers 
the  faith  which  it  has  in  them.  They  take  no 
oath.  We  speak  in  deeds.  The  brotherhood  do 
not  recognize  the  possibility  of  treachery ;  but 
they  are  prepared  to  cope  with  it  if  it  comes. 
Better  far,  Andrew  Riach,  to  be  in  your  grave, 
dead  and  rotten  and  forgotten,  than  a  traitor  to 
the  cause." 

The  president's  voice  trembled  with  solemnity. 

He  stretched  forth  his  hands,  slowly  repeating 
the  words  "dead  and  rotten  and  forgotten," until 
his  wandering  eyes  came  to  rest  on  the  young 
man's  neck. 


BETTER  DEAD.  229 

Andrew  drew  back  a  step  and  bowed  silently, 
as  he  had  seen  many  a  father  do  at  a  christening 
in  the  kirk  at  Wheens. 

**You  will  shortly,"  continued  the  president, 
with  a  return  to  his  ordinary  manner,  "hear  an 
address  on  female  suffrage  from  one  of  the  noblest 
women  in  the  land.  It  will  be  your  part  to  listen. 
To-night  you  will  both  hear  and  see  strange  things. 
Say  nothing.  Evince  no  surprise.  Some  mem- 
bers are  irritable.     Come  ! " 

Once  more  he  took  Andrew  by  the  hand,  and 
led  him  into  the  meeting-room  ;  and  still  his  eyes 
were  fixed  on  the  probationer's  neck.  There 
seemed  to  be  something  about  it  that  he  liked. 

It  was  not  then,  with  the  committee  all  around 
him,  but  long  afterward  at  Wheens,  that  Andrew 
was  struck  by  the  bareness  of  the  chambers. 

Without  the  president's  presence  they  had  no 
character. 

The  trifles  were  absent  that  are  to  a  room  what 
expression  is  to  the  face. 

The  tenant  might  have  been  a  medical  student 
who  knew  that  it  was  not  worth  while  to  unpack 
his  boxes. 

The  only  ornament  on  the  walls  was  an  elabo- 
rate sketch  by  a  member,  showing  the  arrange- 
ment of  the  cellars  beneath  the  premises  of  the 
Young  Men's  Christian  Association. 

There  were  a  dozen  men  in  the  room,  including 
the  president  of  the  Birmingham  branch  associa- 


230  BETTER  DEAD, 

tion  and  two  members  who  had  just  returned 
from  a  visit  to  Edinburgh.  These  latter  had  al- 
ready submitted  their  report. 

The  president  introduced  Andrew  to  the  com- 
mittee, but  not  the  committee  to  him.  Several 
of  them  he  recognized  from  the  portraits  in  the 
shop  windows. 

They  stood  or  sat  in  groups  looking  over  a  pro- 
bationer's thesis.  It  consisted  of  diagrams  of 
machinery. 

Andrew  did  not  see  the  sketches,  though  they 
were  handed  round  separately  for  inspection,  but 
he  listened  eagerly  to  the  president's  explanations. 

''The  first,"  said  the  president,  "is  a  beautiful 
little  instrument  worked  by  steam.  Having 
placed  his  head  on  the  velvet  cushion  D,  the  sub- 
ject can  confidently  await  results. 

**  No.  2  is  the  same  model  on  a  larger  scale. 

"As  yet  3  can  be  of  little  use  to  us.  It  includes 
a  room  13  feet  by  11.  X  is  the  windows  and 
other  apertures  ;  and  these  being  closed  up  and 
the  subjects  admitted,  all  that  remains  to  be  done 
is  to  lock  the  door  from  the  outside  and  turn  on 
the  gas.  E,  F,  and  K  are  couches,  and  L  is  a 
square  inch  of  glass  through  which  results  may 
be  noted. 

"  The  specialty  of  4,  which  is  called  the  '  water 
cure/  is  that  it  is  only  workable  on  water.  It  is 
generally  admitted  that  release  by  drowning  is 
the  pleasantest  of  all  deaths ;   and,   indeed,   4, 


BETTER  DEAD.  231 

Speaking  roughly,  is  a  boat  with  a  hole  in  the 
bottom.  It  is  so  simple  that  a  child  could  work 
it.     C  is  the  plug. 

*'  No.  5  is  an  intricate  instrument.  The  advan- 
tage claimed  for  it  is  that  it  enables  a  large  num- 
ber of  persons  to  leave  together. "  While  the  thesis 
was  under  discussion,  the  attendance  was  in- 
creased by  a  few  members  specially  interested  in 
the  question  of  female  suffrage.  Andrew  observed 
that  several  of  these  wrote  something  on  a  piece 
of  paper  which  lay  on  the  table  with  a  pencil 
beside  it,  before  taking  their  seats. 

He  stretched  himself  in  the  direction  of  this 
paper,  but  subsided  as  he  caught  the  eyes  of  two 
of  the  company  riveted  on  his  neck. 

From  that  time  until  he  left  the  rooms  one  mem- 
ber or  other  was  staring  at  his  neck.  Andrew 
looked  anxiously  in  the  glass  over  the  mantel- 
piece, but  could  see  nothing  wrong. 

The  paper  on  the  table  merely  contained  such 
jottings  as  these  : 

** Robert  Buchanan  has  written  another  play." 

''Schnadhorst  is  in  town." 

*'Ashmead  Bartlett  walks  in  Temple  Gardens 
3  to  4.'* 

''Clement  Scott  (?)." 

*' Query  :  Is  there  a  dark  passage  near  Hynd- 
man's  (Socialist's)  house  ?  " 

''Talmage.     Address,  Midland  Hotel." 

'*  Andrew  Lang(?)." 


232 


BETTER  DEAD, 


Andrew  was  a  good  deal  interested  in  woman's 
suffrage,  and  the  debate  on  this  question  in  the 
students'  society  at  Edinburgh,  when  he  spoke  for 
an  hour  and  five  minutes,  is  still  remembered  by 
the  janitor  who  had  to  keep  the  door  until  the 
meeting  closed. 

Debating  societies,  like  the  company  of  re- 
porters, engender  a  familiarity  of  reference  to 
eminent  persons,  and  Andrew  had  in  his  time 
struck  down  the  champions  of  woman's  rights 
as  a  boy  plays  with  his  ninepins. 

To  be  brought  face  to  face  with  a  lady  whose 
name  is  a  household  word  wheresoever  a  few 
Scotchmen  can  meet  and  resolve  themselves  into 
an  argument  was  another  matter. 

It  was  with  no  ordinary  mingling  of  respect 
with  curiosity  that  he  stood  up  with  the  others  to 
greet  Mrs.  Fawcett  as  the  president  led  her  into 
the  room.  The  young  man's  face,  as  he  looked 
upon  her  for  the  first  time,  was  the  best  book  this 
remarkable  woman  ever  wrote. 

The  proceedings  were  necessarily  quiet,  and 
the  president  had  introduced  their  guest  to  the 
meeting  without  Andrew's  hearing  a  word. 

He  was  far  away  in  a  snow-swept  university 
quadrangle  on  a  windy  night,  when  Mrs.  Fawcett 
rose  to  her  feet. 

Some  one  flung  open  the  window,  for  the  place 
was  close,  and  immediately  the  skirl  of  a  bag- 
piper broke  the  silence. 


BETTER  DEAD.  233 

It  might  have  been  the  devil  that  rushed  into 
the  room. 

Still  Andrew  dreamed  on. 

The  guest  paused. 

The  members  looked  at  each  other,  and  the 
president  nodded  to  one  of  them. 

He  left  the  room,  and  about  two  minutes  after- 
ward the  music  suddenly  ceased. 

Andrew  woke  with  a  start  in  time  to  see  him 
return,  write  two  words  in  the  members'  book, 
and  resume  his  seat.     Mrs.   Fawcett  then  began. 

"  I  have  before  me,"  she  said,  turning  over  the 
leaves  of  a  bulky  manuscript,  "  a  great  deal  of 
matter  bearing  on  the  question  of  woman's  rights, 
which  at  such  a  meeting  as  this  may  be  considered 
read.  It  is  mainly  historical,  and  while  I  am 
prepared  to  meet  with  hostile  criticism  from  the 
society,  I  assume  that  the  progress  our  agitation 
has  made,  with  its  disappointments,  its  trials,  and 
its  triumphs,  has  been  followed  more  or  less  care- 
fully by  you  all. 

"Nor  shall  I,  after  the  manner  of  speakers  on 
such  an  occasion,  pay  you  the  doubtful  compli' 
ment  of  fulsomely  extolling  your  aims  before  your 
face. 

"I  come  at  once  to  the  question  of  woman's 
rights  in  so  far  as  the  society  can  affect  them,  and 
I  ask  of  you  a  consideration  of  my  case  with  as 
little  prejudice  as  men  can  be  expected  to  ap- 
proach it 


234  BETTER  DEAD. 

"In  the  constitution  of  the  society,  as  it  has 
been  explained  to  me,  I  notice  chiefly  two  things 
which  would  have  filled  me  with  indignation 
twenty  years  ago,  but  only  remind  me  how  far 
we  are  from  the  goal  of  our  ambition  now. 

"The  first  is  a  sin  of  omission,  the  second  one 
of  commission,  and  the  latter  is  the  more  to  be 
deprecated  in  that  you  made  it  with  your  eyes 
open,  after  full  discussion,  while  the  other  came 
about  as  a  matter  of  course. 

"I  believe  I  am  right  in  saying  that  the  mem- 
bership of  this  society  is  exclusively  male,  and 
also  that  no  absolute  veto  has  been  placed  on 
female  candidature  ? 

"As  a  matter  of  fact,  it  never  struck  the  found- 
ers that  such  a  veto  in  black  and  white  was  nec- 
essary. When  they  drew  up  the  rules  of  mem- 
bership, the  other  sex  never  fell  like  a  black 
shadow  on  the  paper  ;  it  was  forgotten.  We  owe 
our  eligibility  to  many  other  offices  (generally 
disputed  at  law)  to  the  same  accident.  In  short, 
the  unwritten  law  of  the  argumentum  ad  crinolinam 
puts  us  to  the  side." 

Having  paid  the  society  the  compliment  of  be- 
lieving that,  however  much  it  differed  from  her 
views,  it  would  not  dismiss  them  with  a  laugh, 
Mrs.  Fawcett  turned  to  the  question  of  woman's 
alleged  physical  limitations. 

She  said  much  on  this  point  that  Andrew  saw 
could  not  be  easily  refuted,  but,  interesting  though 


BETTER  DEAD.  235 

she  made  it,  we  need  not  follow  her  over  beaten 
ground. 

So  far,  the  members  had  given  her  the  courteous 
non-attention  which  thoughtful  introductory  re- 
marks can  always  claim.  It  was  when  she 
reached  her  second  head  that  they  fastened  upon 
her  words. 

Then  Andrew  had  seen  no  sharper  audience 
since  he  was  one  of  a  Scotch  congregation  on  the 
scent  of  a  heretic. 

"At  a  full  meeting  of  committee,"  said  Mrs. 
Fawcett,  with  a  ring  of  bitterness  in  her  voice, 
"  you  passed  a  law  that  women  should  not  enjoy 
the  advantages  of  the  association.  Be  they  ever 
so  eminent,  their  sex  deprives  them  of  your  care. 
You  take  up  the  case  of  a  petty  maker  of  books 
because  his  tea-leaf  solutions  weary  you,  and  you 
put  a  stop  to  him  with  an  enthusiasm  worthy  of 
a  nobler  object. 

"But  the  woman  is  left  to  decay. 

"  This  society  at  its  noblest  was  instituted  for 
taking  strong  means  to  prevent  men's  slipping 
down  the  ladder  it  has  been  such  a  toil  to  them 
to  mount,  but  the  women  who  have  climbed  as 
high  as  they  can  fall  from  rung  to  rung. 

"There  are  female  nuisances  as  well  as  male  ; 
I  presume  no  one  here  will  gainsay  me  that.  But 
you  do  not  know  them  officially.  The  politicians 
who  joke  about  three  acres  and  a  cow,  the  writers 
who  are  comic  about  mothers-in-law,  the  very 


236  BETTER  DEAD. 

boot-blacks,  have  your  solicitude,  but  you  ignore 
their  complements  in  the  softer  sex. 

''Yet  you  call  yourselves  a  society  for  suppress- 
ing excrescences  !  Your  president  tells  me  you 
are  at  present  inquiring  for  the  address  of  the  man 
w^ho  signs  himself  '  Paterfamilias '  in  the  Times  ; 
but  the  letters  from  'A  British  Matron  *  are  of  no 
account. 

'*I  do  not  need  to  be  told  how  Dr.  Smith,  the 
fashionable  physician,  was  precipitated  down 
that  area  the  other  day ;  but  what  I  do  ask  is, 
Why  should  he  be  taken  and  all  the  lady  doctors 
left? 

* '  Their  degrees  are  as  good  as  his.  You  are 
too  'manly,'  you  say,  to  arrest  their  course.  Is 
injustice  manliness .?  We  have  another  name  for 
it.     We  say  you  want  the  pluck. 

"I  suppose  every  one  of  you  has  been  reading 
a  very  able  address  recently  delivered  at  the  meet- 
ing of  the  Social  Science  Congress.  I  refer  to  my 
friend  Mrs.  Kendal's  paper  on  the  moral  aspect 
of  the  drama  in  this  country. 

"It  is  a  powerful  indictment  of  the  rank  and 
file  of  her  professional  brothers  and  sisters,  and 
nowhere  sadder,  more  impressive,  or  more  unan- 
swerable than  where  she  speaks  of  the  involuntary 
fall  of  the  actor  into  social  snobbishness  and  pro- 
fessional clap-trap. 

"I  do  not  know  how  the  paper  affected  you. 
But  since  reading  it  I  have  asked,  in   despair, 


BETTER  DEAD.  237 

How  can  this  gifted  lady  continue  to  pick  her 
way  between  the  snares  with  which  the  stage  is 
beset  ? 

**Is  it  possible  that  the  time  may  come  when 
she  will  advertise  by  photographs  and  beg  from 
reporters  the  'pars' she  now  so  scathingly  crit- 
icises ?  Nay,  when  I  look  upon  the  drop-scene 
at  the  St.  James'  Theatre,  I  ask  myself  if  the 
deterioration  has  not  already  set  in. 

*'  Gentlemen,  is  this  a  matter  of  indifference  to 
you  ?  But  why  do  I  ask  ?  Has  not  Mrs.  Lynn 
Linton  another  article  in  the  new  Nineteenth 
Century  that  makes  her  worthy  your  attention  ? 
They  are  women,  and  the  sex  is  outside  your 
sphere. " 

It  was  nearly  twelve  o'clock  when  Mrs.  Fawcett 
finished  her  address,  and  the  society  had  adopted 
the  good  old  rule  of  getting  to  bed  betimes.  Thus 
it  was  afterward  that  Andrew  learned  how  long 
and  carefully  the  society  had  already  considered 
the  advisability  of  giving  women  equal  rights 
with  men. 

As  he  was  leaving  the  chambers  the  president 
slipped  something  into  his  hand.  He  held  it  there 
until  he  reached  his  room. 

On  the  way  a  man  struck  against  him,  scanned 
him  piercingly,  and  then  shuffled  off.  He  was 
muffled  up,  but  Andrew  wondered  if  he  had  not 
seen  him  at  the  meeting. 


238  BETTER  DEAD. 

The  young  Scotchman  had  an  uneasy  feeling 
that  his  footsteps  were  dogged. 

As  soon  as  he  reached  home,  he  unfolded  the 
scrap  of  paper  that  had  been  pushed  into  his  hand. 
It  merely  contained  these  words  : 

**  Cover  up  your  neck  1  " 


BETTER  DEAD,  239 


CHAPTER  V. 

On  the  following  Tuesday,  Andrew  met  the 
president  by  appointment  at  the  Marble  Arch. 

Until  he  had  received  his  final  instructions  he 
was  pledged  not  to  begin,  and  he  had  passed 
these  two  intervening  days  staring  at  his  empty 
fireplace. 

They  shook  hands  silently,  and  passed  into  the 
Park.  The  president  was  always  thoughtful  in 
a  crowd. 

**In  such  a  gathering  as  this,"  said  Andrew, 
pointing  an  imaginary  pistol  at  a  lecturer  on  so- 
cialism, "  you  could  hardly  go  wrong  to  let  fly. " 

**  You  must  not  speak  Hke  that,"  the  president 
said  gently,  **  or  we  shall  soon  lose  you.  Your 
remark,  however,  opens  the  way  for  what  I  have 
to  say.  You  have  never  expressed  any  curiosity 
as  to  your  possible  fate.  I  hope  this  is  not  because 
you  under-estimate  the  risks.  If  the  authorities 
saw  you  'letting  fly,'  as  you  term  it,  promis- 
cuously, or  even  at  a  given  object,  they  would 
treat  you  as  no  better  than  a  malefactor." 

* '  I  thought  that  all  out  yesterday, "  said  Andrew, 
*'and  I  am  amazed  at  the  society's  success  in 
escaping  detection." 


240  BETTER  DEAD. 

"  I  feared  this,"  said  the  president.  "You  are 
mistaken.  We  don't  always  escape  detection. 
Sometimes  we  are  caught " 

''Caught.?" 

"Yes,  and  hanged." 

"But  if  that  is  so,  why  does  it  not  get  into  the 
papers  ? " 

"The  papers  are  full  of  it." 

Andrew  looked  incredulous. 

"In  the  present  state  of  the  law,"  said  the 
president,  "motive  in  a  murder  goes  for  nothing. 
However  iniquitous  this  may  be — and  I  do  not 
attempt  to  defend  it — we  accept  it  as  a  fact. 
Your  motives  may  have  been  unexceptionable, 
but  they  hang  you  all  the  same.  Thus,  our  mem- 
bers when  apprehended  preserve  silence  on  this 
point,  or  say  that  they  are  Fenians.  This  is  to 
save  the  society.  The  man  who  got  fifteen  years 
the  other  day  for  being  found  near  St.  Stephen's 
with  six  infernal  machines  in  his  pockets  was 
really  one  of  us.  He  was  taking  them  to  be  re- 
paired." 

"And  the  other  who  got  ten  years  the  week 
before?" 

"  He  was  from  America,  but  it  was  for  one  of 
our  affairs  that  he  was  sentenced.  He  was  quite 
innocent.  You  see  the  dynamiters,  vulgarly  so 
called,  are  playing  into  our  hands.  Suspicion 
naturally  falls  on  them.     He  was  our  fifth." 

"  I  had  no  idea  of  this,"  murmured  Andrew. 


BETTER  DEAD.  241 

**You  see  what  a  bad  name  does/'  said  the 
president.  "Let  this  be  a  warning  to  you, 
Andrew." 

''But  is  this  quite  fair?" 

"As  for  that,  they  like  it — the  leading  spirits,  I 
mean.  It  gives  them  a  reputation.  Besides, 
they  hurt  as  well  as  help  us.  It  was  after  their 
appearance  that  the  authorities  were  taught  to  be 
distrustful.  You  have  little  idea  of  the  precau- 
tions taken  nowadays.  There  is  Sir  William 
Harcourt,  for  instance,  who  is  attended  by 
policemen , every  where.  I  used  to  go  home  from 
the  House  behind  him  nightly,  but  I  could  never 
get  him  alone.  I  have  walked  in  the  very 
shadow  of  that  man,  but  always  in  a  com- 
pany." 

"You  were  never  arrested  yourself?"  asked 
Andrew. 

"I  was  once,  but  we  substituted  a  proba- 
tioner. " 

'^Then  did  he— was  he " 

"Yes,  poor  fellow." 

«'  Is  that  often  done  ?  " 

"  Sometimes.  You  perhaps  remember  the 
man  who  went  over  the  embankment  the  night 
we  met  ?  Well,  if  I  had  been  charged  with  that, 
you  would  have  had  to  be  hanged." 

Andrew  took  a  seat  to  collect  his  thoughts. 

"Was  that  why   you  seemed  to  take  to  me  so 
much  ? "  he  asked  wistfully. 
16 


242  BETTER  DEAD. 

"  It  was  only  one  reason,"  said  the  president, 
soothingly.      *'I  liked  you  from  the  first." 

"But  I  don't  see,"  said  Andrew,  ''why  I 
should  have  suffered  for  your  action. " 

For  the  moment,  his  veneration  for  this 
remarkable  man  hung  in  the  balance. 

"  It  would  have  been  for  the  society's  sake," 
said  the  president,  simply  ;  "probationers  are 
hardly  missed." 

His  face  wore  a  pained  look,  but  there  was  no 
reproach  in  his  voice. 

Andrew  was  touched. 

He  looked  the  apology,  which,  as  a  Scotch- 
man, he  could  not  go  the  length  of  uttering. 

"Before  I  leave  you  to-day,"  said  the  presi- 
dent, turning  to  a  pleasanter  subject,  "I  shall 
give  you  some  money.  We  do  not,  you  under- 
stand, pay  our  probationers  a  fixed  salary." 

"It  is  more,  is  it  not  ? "  said  Andrew,  "in  the 
nature  of  a  scholarship  ? " 

"Yes,  a  scholarship — for  the  endowment  of 
research.  You  see  we  do  not  tie  you  down  to 
any  particular  line  of  study.  Still,  I  shall  be 
happy  to  hear  of  any  programme  you  may  have 
drawn  up." 

Andrew  hesitated.  He  did  not  know  that,  to 
the  president,  he  was  an  open  book. 

"I  dare  say  I  can  read  your  thoughts,"  said 
his  companion.  "There  is  an  eminent  person 
whom  you  would  like  to  make  your  first  ? " 


BETTER  DEAD.  243 

Andrew  admitted  that  this  was  so. 

*'I  do  not  ask  any  confidences  of  you,"  con- 
tinued the  president,  "nor  shall  I  discourage 
ambition.  But  I  hope,  Andrew,  you  have  only 
in  view  the  greatest  good  of  the  greatest  number. 
At  such  a  time,  it  is  well  for  the  probationer  to 
ask  himself  two  questions  :  Is  it  not  self-glorifi- 
cation that  prompts  me  to  pick  this  man  out 
from  among  so  many  ?  and,  Am  I  actuated  by 
any  personal  animosity  ?  If  you  cannot  answer 
both  these  questions  in  the  negative,  it  is  time  to 
ask  a  third.  Should  I  go  on  with  this  under- 
taking ? " 

'*In  this  case,"  said  Andrew,  "I  do  not  think 
it  is  self-glory,  and  I  am  sure  it  is  not  spite.  He 
is  a  man  I  have  a  very  high  opinion  of." 

"  A  politician  ?  Remember  that  we  are  above 
party  considerations. " 

"He  is  a  politician,"  said  Andrew,  reluctantly, 
*  *  but  it  is  his  politics  I  admire. " 

"And  you  are  sure  his  time  has  come?  Then 
how  do  you  propose  to  set  about  it  ? " 

*  *  I  thought  of  calling  at  his  house,  and  putting 
it  to  him." 

The  president's  countenance  fell. 

"Well,  well,"  he  said,  "that  may  answer. 
But  there  is  no  harm  in  bearing  in  mind  that 
persuasion  is  not  necessarily  a  passive  force. 
Without  going  the  length  of  removing  him  your- 
self, you  know,  you  could  put  temptation  in  his 
way. " 


244  BETTER  DEAD. 

''If  I  know  my  man,"  said  Andrew,  "that 
will  not  be  required." 

The  president  had  drunk  life's  disappointments 
to  the  dregs,  but  it  was  not  in  his  heart  to  damp 
the  youth's  enthusiasm. 

Experience  he  knew  to  be  a  commodity  for 
which  we  pay  a  fancy  price. 

''After  that,"  said  Andrew,  "I  thought  of 
Henry  Irving." 

"We  don't  kill  actors,"  his  companion  said. 

It  was  Andrew's  countenance's  turn  to  fall 
now. 

"We  don't  have  time  for  it,"  the  president 
explained.  "When  the  society  was  instituted, 
we  took  a  few  of  them,  but  merely  to  get  our 
hands  in.  We  didn't  want  to  bungle  good  cases, 
you  see,  and  it  did  not  matter  so  much  for  them." 

"How  did  you  do  it?" 

"We  waited  at  the  stage  door,  and  went  off 
with  the  first  person  who  came  out,  male  or 
female. " 

"But   I   understood   you    did    not    take    up 
women  ? " 

* '  Nor  do  we.  Theatrical  people  constitute  a 
sex  by  themselves — like  curates. " 

"Then  can't  I  even  do  the  man  who  stands  at 
the  theatre  doors,  all  shirt-front  and  diamonds  ?  " 

The  president  shivered. 

'*  If  you  happen  to  be  passing,  at  any  rate,'* 
he  said. 


BETTER  DEAD.  245 

"  And  surely  some  of  the  playwrights  would 
be  better  dead.  They  must  see  that  them- 
selves. " 

"They  have  had  their  chance,"  said  the  presi- 
dent. Despite  his  nationality,  Andrew  had  not 
heard  the  story,  so  the  president  told  it  him. 

**Many  years  ago,  when  the  drama  was  in 
its  infancy,  some  young  men  from  Stratford- 
on-Avon  and  elsewhere  resolved  to  build  a  theatre 
in  London. 

"The  times,  however,  were  moral,  and  no  one 
would  imperil  his  soul  so  far  as  to  give  them  a  site. 

"One  night,  they  met  in  despair,  when  sud- 
denly the  room  was  illumined  by  lightning,  and 
they  saw  the  devil  in  the  midst  of  them. 

"He  has  always  been  a  large  proprietor  in 
London,  and  he  had  come  to  strike  a  bargain  with 
them.  They  could  have  as  many  sites  as  they 
chose,  on  one  condition.  Every  year  they  must 
send  him  a  dramatist. 

"You  see  he  was  willing  to  take  his  chance  of 
the  players. 

*  *  The  compact  was  made,  and  up  to  the  present 
time  it  has  been  religiously  kept.  But  this  year, 
as  the  day  drew  near,  found  the  managers  very 
uneasy.  They  did  what  they  could.  They  for- 
warded the  best  man  they  had." 

"What  happened.?"  asked  Andrew,  breath- 
lessly. 

"The  devil  sent  him  back,"  said  the  president 


246  BETTER  DEAD. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

It  was  one  Sunday  forenoon,  on  such  a  sunny 
day  as  slovenly  men  seize  upon  to  wash  their 
feet  and  have  it  over,  that  Andrew  set  out  to  call 
on  Mr.  Labouchere. 

The  leaves  in  the  squares  were  green,  and  the 
twittering  of  the  birds  among  the  boughs  was 
almost  gay  enough  to  charm  him  out  of  the 
severity  of  countenance  which  a  Scotchman  wears 
on  a  Sunday  with  his  blacks. 

Andrew  could  not  help  regarding  the  mother- 
of-pearl  sky  as  a  favorable  omen.  Several  times 
he  caught  himself  becoming  light-hearted. 

He  got  the  great  Radical  on  the  door-step,  just 
setting  out  for  church. 

The  two  men  had  not  met  before,  but  Andrew 
was  a  disciple  in  the  school  in  which  the  other 
taught. 

Between  man  and  man  formal  introductions  are 
humbugs. 

Andrew  explained  in  a  few  words  the  nature  of 
his  visit,  and  received  a  cordial  welcome. 

*'But  I  could  call  again,"  he  said,  observing  the 
hymn-book  in  the  other's  hand. 

''Nonsense,"  said  Mr.  Labouchere,  heartily; 


BETTER  DEAD.  247 

**it  must  be  business  before  pleasure.  Mind  the 
step." 

So  saying,  he  led  his  visitor  into  a  cheerful 
snuggery  at  the  back  of  the  house.  It  was  fur- 
nished with  a  careful  contempt  for  taste,  and  the 
first  thing  that  caught  Andrew's  eye  was  a  pot  of 
apple-jam  on  a  side-table. 

''I  have  no  gum,"  Mr.  Labouchere  explained 
hastily. 

A  handsomely  framed  picture,  representing 
Truth  lying  drowned  at  the  bottom  of  a  well, 
stood  on  the  mantelpiece ;  indeed,  there  were 
many  things  in  the  room  that,  on  another  occa- 
sion, Andrew  would  have  been  interested  to  hear 
the  history  of 

He  could  not  but  know,  however,  that  at 
present  he  was  to  some  extent  an  intruder,  and 
until  he  had  fully  explained  his  somewhat  delicate 
business  he  would  not  feel  at  ease. 

Though  argumentative,  Andrew  was  essentially 
a  shy,  proud  man. 

It  was  very  like  Mr.  Labouchere  to  leave  him 
to  tell  his  story  in  his  own  way,  only  now  and 
then,  at  the  outset,  interjecting  a  humorous 
remark,  which  we  here  omit. 

"I  hope,"  said  Andrew,  earnestly,  ''that  you 
will  not  think  it  fulsome  on  my  part  to  say  how 
much  I  like  you.  In  your  public  utterances  you 
have  let  it  be  known  what  value  you  set  on  pretty 
phrases ;  but  I  speak  the  blunt  truth,  as  you  have 


248  BETTER  DEAD. 

taught  it.      I   am  only   a  young  man,    perhaps 
awkward  and  unpolished " 

Here  Andrew  paused,  but  as  Mr.  Labouchere 
did  not  say  anything  he  resumed  : 

' '  That  as  it  may  be,  I  should  like  you  to  know 
that  your  political  speeches  have  become  part  of 
my  life.  When  I  was  a  student,  it  seemed  to  me 
that  the  Radicalism  of  so-called  advanced  thinkers 
was  a  half  hearted  sham  ;  I  had  no  interest  in 
politics  at  all  until  I  read  your  attack — one  of 
them — on  the  House  of  Lords.  That  day  marked 
an  epoch  in  my  life;  I  used  to  read  the  university 
library  copy  of  Truth  from  cover  to  cover.  Some- 
times I  carried  it  into  the  class-room.  That  was 
not  allowed.  I  took  it  up  my  waistcoat.  In 
those  days  I  said  that  if  I  wrote  a  book  I  would 
dedicate  it  to  you  without  permission  ;  and  Lon- 
don, when  I  came  to  it,  was  to  me  the  town 
where  you  lived. " 

There  was  a  great  deal  of  truth  in  this  ;  indeed, 
Mr.  Labouchere's  single-hearted  enthusiasm — be 
his  politics  right  or  wrong — is  well  calculated  to 
fascinate  young  men. 

If  it  was  slightly  overcharged,  the  temptation 
was  great.  Andrew  was  keenly  desirous  of  car- 
rying his  point,  and  he  wanted  his  host  to  see 
that  he  was  only  thinking  of  his  good. 

''Well,  but  what  is  it  you  would  have  me  do  ?  " 
asked  Mr.  Labouchere,  who  often  had  claimants 
on  his  bounty  and  his  autographs. 


BETTER  DEAD,  249 

**  I  want  you,"  said  Andrew,  eagerly,  **to 
die." 

The  two  men  looked  hard  at  each  other.  There 
was  not  even  a  clock  in  the  room  to  break  the 
silence.     At  last  the  statesman  spoke. 

''Why.?  "he  asked. 

His  visitor  sank  back  in  his  chair,  relieved. 

He  had  put  all  his  hopes  in  the  other's  common 
sense. 

It  had  never  failed  Mr.  Labouchere,  and  now  it 
promised  not  to  fail  Andrew. 

''I  am  anxious  to  explain  that,"  the  young- 
man  said  glibly.  '*If  you  can  look  at  yourself 
with  the  same  eyes  with  which  you  see  other 
people,  it  won't  take  long.  Make  a  looking-glass 
of  me,  and  it  is  done. 

*'  You  have  now  reached  a  high  position  in  the 
worlds  of  politics  and  literature,  to  which  you 
have  cut  your  way  unaided. 

"You  are  a  great  satirist,  combining  instruction 
with  amusement,  a  sort  of  comic  Carlyle. 

"You  hate  shams  so  much  that  if  man  had 
been  constructed  for  it  I  dare  say  you  would  kick 
at  yourself. 

"You  have  your  enemies,  but  the  very  persons 
who  blunt  their  weapons  on  you  do  you  the 
honor  of  sharpening  them  on  Truth.  In  short, 
you  have  reached  the  summit  of  your  fame,  and 
you  are  too  keen  a  man  of  the  world  not  to  know 
that  fame  is  a  touch-and-go  thing." 


250  BETTER  DEAD. 

Andrew  paused. 

* '  Go  on, "  said  Mr.  Labouchere. 

''Well,  you  have  now  got  fame,  honor,  every- 
thing for  which  it  is  legitimate  in  man  to  strive. 

"So  far  back  as  I  can  remember,  you  have  had 
the  world  laughing  with  you.  But  you  know 
what  human  nature  is. 

"There  comes  a  morning  to  all  wits,  when 
their  public  wakes  to  find  them  bores.  The  fault 
may  not  be  the  wit's,  but  what  of  that  ?  The 
result  is  the  same. 

*'  Wits  are  like  theatres  :  they  may  have  a 
glorious  youth  and  prime,  but  their  old  age  is 
dismal.  To  the  outsider,  like  myself,  signs  are 
not  wanting — to  continue  the  figure  of  speech — 
that  you  have  put  on  your  last  successful  piece. 

"  Can  you  say  candidly  that  your  last  Christmas 
number  was  more  than  a  reflection  of  its  pred- 
ecessors, or  that  your  remarks  this  year  on  the 
Derby  Day  took  as  they  did  the  year  before  ? 

"Surely  the  most  incisive  of  our  satirists  will 
not  let  himself  degenerate  into  an  illustration  of 
Mr.  Herbert  Spencer's  theory  that  man  repeats 
himself,  like  history. 

"Mr.  Labouchere,  sir,  to  those  of  us  who  have 
grown  up  in  your  inspiration,  it  would  indeed  be 
pitiful  if  this  were  so. " 

Andrew's  host  turned  nervously  in  his  chair. 

Probably  he  wished  that  he  had  gone  to  church 
now. 


BETTER  DEAD.  25 1 

"You  need  not  be  alarmed,"  he  said,  with  a 
forced  smile. 

"You  will  die,"  cried  Andrew,  "before  they 
send  you  to  the  House  of  Lords  ?  " 

"  In  which  case  the  gain  would  be  all  to  those 
left  behind." 

"No,"  said  Andrew,  who  now  felt  that  he  had 
as  good  as  gained  the  day  ;  ' '  there  could  not  be 
a  greater  mistake. 

"Suppose  it  happened  to-night,  or  even  put  it 
off  to  the  end  of  the  week;  see  what  would 
follow. 

"The  ground  you  have  lost  so  far  is  infinitesi- 
mal. It  would  be  forgotten  in  the  general  re- 
gret. 

"Think  of  the  newspaper  placards  next  morn- 
ing, some  of  them  perhaps  edged  with  black  ;  the 
leaders  in  every  London  paper  and  in  all  the 
prominent  provincial  ones  ;  the  six  columns  in 
the  Times ;  the  paragraphs  in  the  World ;  the 
motion  by  Mr.  Gladstone  or  Mr.  Healy  for  the 
adjournment  of  the  House;  the  magazine  articles ; 
the  promised  memoirs ;  the  publication  of  post- 
humous papers  ;  the  resolution  in  the  Northamp- 
ton Town  Council ;  the  statue  in  Hyde  Park  !  With 
such  a  recompense,  where  would  be  the  sacri- 
fice?" 

Mr.  Labouchere  rose  and  paced  the  room  in 
great  mental  agitation. 

"Now  look  at  the  other  side  of  the  picture," 


252  BETTER  DEAD. 

said  Andrew,  rising  and  following  him  :  "  Truth 
reduced  to  threepence,  and  then  to  a  penny  ; 
yourself  confused  with  Tracy  Turnerelli  or  Martin 
Tupper ;  your  friends  running  when  you  looked 
like  jesting ;  the  House  emptying,  the  reporters 
shutting  their  note-books,  as  you  rose  to  speak ; 
the  great  name  of  Labouchere  become  a  synonym 
for  bore  ! " 

They  presented  a  strange  picture  in  that  room, 
its  owner's  face  now  a  grayish-white,  his  suppli- 
cant shaking  with  a  passion  that  came  out  in 
perspiration. 

With  a  trembling  hand  Mr.  Labouchere  flung 
open  the  window.     The  room  was  stifling. 

There  was  a  smell  of  new-mown  hay  in  the  air, 
a  gentle  breeze  tipped  the  well-trimmed  hedge 
with  life,  and  the  walks  crackled  in  the  heat. 

But  a  stone's  throw  distant  the  sun  was  bathing 
in  the  dimpled  Thames. 

There  was  a  cawing  of  rooks  among  the  tall 
trees,  and  a  church-bell  tinkled  in  the  ivy  far 
away  across  the  river. 

Mr.  Labouchere  was  far  away  too. 

He  was  a  round-cheeked  boy  again,  smothering 
his  kitten  in  his  pinafore,  prattling  of  Red  Riding 
Hood  by  his  school-mistress'  knee,  and  guddling 
in  the  brook  for  minnows. 

And  now — and  now  ! 

It  was  a  beautiful  world,  and,  ah,  life  is  sweet  1 
He  pressed  his  fingers  to  his  forehead. 


BETTER  DEAD.  253 

**  Leave  me,"  he  said  hoarsely. 

Andrew  put  his  hand  upon  the  shoulder  of  the 
man  he  loved  so  well. 

** Be  brave,"  he  said  ;  "do  it  in  whatever  way 
you  prefer.  A  moment's  suffering,  and  all  will 
be  over. " 

He  spoke  gently.  There  is  always  something 
infinitely  pathetic  in  the  sight  of  a  strong  man  in 
pain.     Mr.  Labouchere  turned  upon  him. 

"Go,"  he  cried,  "or  I  will  call  the  servants." 

"You  forget,"  said  Andrew,  "that  I  am  your 
guest. " 

But  his  host  only  pointed  to  the  door. 

Andrew  felt  a  great  sinking  at  his  heart.  They 
prate  who  say  it  is  success  that  tries  a  man.  He 
flung  himself  at  Mr.  Labouchere's  feet. 

"  Think  of  the  public  funeral,"  he  cried. 

His  host  seized  the  bell-rope  and  pulled  it  vio- 
lently. 

"If  you  will  do  it,"  said  Andrew,  solemnly. 
"I  promise  to  lay  flowers  on  your  grave  every 
day  till  I  die." 

"  John,"  said  Mr.  Labouchere,  "  show  this  gen- 
tleman out." 

Andrew  rose. 

"You  refuse?  "  he  asked. 

"I  do." 

"  You  won't  think  it  over  ?  If  I  call  again,  say 
on  Thursday " 

"John  I  "  said  Mr.  Labouchere. 


254  BETTER  DEAD. 

Andrew  took  up  his  hat.  His  host  thought  he 
had  gone.  But  in  the  hall  his  reflection  in  a  look- 
ing-glass reminded  the  visitor  of  something.  He 
put  his  head  in  at  the  doorway  again. 

**  Would  you  mind  telling  me,"  he  said, 
*' whether  you  see  anything  peculiar  about  my 
neck  ? " 

**It  seems  a  good  neck  to  twist,"  Mr.  Labou- 
chere  answered,  a  little  savagely. 

Andrew  then  withdrew. 


BETTER  DEAD. 


255 


CHAPTER   VII. 

This  unexpected  rebuff  from  Mr.  Labouchere 
rankled  for  many  days  in  Andrew's  mind.  Had 
he  been  proposing  for  the  great  statesman's  hand, 
he  could  not  have  felt  it  more.  Perhaps  he  did 
not  make  sufficient  allowance  for  Mr.  Labou- 
chere ;  it  is  always  so  easy  to  advise. 

But  to  rage  at  a  man  (or  woman)  is  the  proof 
that  we  can  adore  them  ;  it  is  only  his  loved  ones 
who  infuriate  a  Scotchman. 

There  were  moments  when  Andrew  said  to  him- 
self that  he  had  nothing  more  to  live  for. 

Then  he  would  upbraid  himself  for  having  gone 
about  it  too  hurriedly,  and  in  bitter  self-contempt 
strike  his  hand  on  the  railings  as  he  rushed  by. 

Work  is  the  sovereign  remedy  for  this  unhealthy 
state  of  mind,  and  fortunately  Andrew  had  a 
great  deal  to  do. 

Gradually  the  wound  healed,  and  he  began  to 
take  an  interest  in  Lord  Randolph  Churchill. 

Every  day  the  Flying  Scotchman  shoots  its 
refuse  of  clever  young  men  upon  London  who 
are  too  ambitious  to  do  anything. 

Andrew  wa$  not  one  of  these. 


2S6  BETTER  DEAD. 

Seeking  to  carry  off  one  of  the  greatest  prizes 
in  his  profession,  he  had  aimed  too  high  for  a 
beginner. 

When  he  realized  this  he  apprenticed  himself, 
so  to  speak,  to  the  president,  determined  to  acquire 
a  practical  knowledge  of  his  art  in  all  its  branches. 
Though  a  very  young  man,  he  had  still  much  to 
learn.  It  was  only  in  his  leisure  moments  that 
he  gave  way  to  dreams  over  a  magnum  opus. 

But  when  he  did  set  about  it,  which  must  be 
before  his  period  of  probation  closed,  he  had 
made  up  his  mind  to  be  thorough. 

The  months  thus  passed  quietly  but  not  un- 
profitably  in  assisting  the  president,  acquainting 
himself  with  the  favorite  resorts  of  interesting 
persons  and  composing  his  thesis. 

At  intervals  the  monotony  was  relieved  by 
more  strictly  society  work.  On  these  occasions 
he  played  a  part  not  dissimilar  to  that  of  a  junior 
counsel. 

The  president  found  him  invaluable  in  his  raid 
on  the  gentlemen  with  umbrellas  who  read  news- 
papers in  the  streets. 

It  was  Andrew — though  he  never  got  the  credit 
of  it — who  put  his  senior  in  possession  of  the  nec- 
essary particulars  about  the  comic  writers  whose 
subject  is  teetotalism  and  spinsters. 

He  was  unwearying,  indeed,  in  his  efforts  with 
regard  to  the  comic  journals  generally,  and  the 
first  man  of  any  note  that  he  disposed  of  was 


BETTER  DEAD.  257 

Punch* s  favorite  artist  on  Scotch  matters.  This 
was  in  an  alley  off  Fleet  Street. 

Andrew  took  a  new  interest  in  the  House  of 
Lords,  and  had  a  magnificent  scheme  for  ending 
it  in  half  an  hour. 

As  the  members  could  never  be  got  together  in 
any  number,  this  fell  through. 

Lord  Brabourne  will  remember  the  young  man 
in  a  straw  hat,  with  his  neck  covered  up,  who  at- 
tended the  House  so  regularly  when  it  was 
announced  that  he  was  to  speak.  That  was 
Andrew. 

It  was  he  who  excitedly  asked  the  Black  Rod 
to  point  out  Lord  Sherbrooke,  when  it  was  inti- 
mated that  this  peer  was  preparing  a  volume  of 
poems  for  the  press. 

In  a  month's  time  Andrew  knew  the  likeliest 
places  to  meet  these  and  other  noble  lords  alone. 

The  publishing  offices  of  England,  the  only 
Conservative  newspaper,  had  a  fascination  for 
him. 

He  got  to  know  Mr.  Ashmead  Bartletf s  hours 
of  calling,  until  the  sight  of  him  on  the  pavement 
was  accepted  as  a  token  that  the  proprietor  was 
inside. 

They  generally  reached  the  House  of  Com- 
mons about  the  same  time. 

Here  Andrew's  interest  was  discriminated 
among  quite  a  number  of  members.  Mr.  Brad- 
laugh,  Mr.  Sexton,  and  Mr.  Majoribanks,  the  re- 
17 


258  BETTER  DEAD. 

spected  member  for  Berwickshire,  were  perhaps 
his  favorites ;  but  the  one  he  dwelt  wuth  most 
pride  on  was  Lord  Randolph  Churchill. 

One  night  he  gloated  so  long  over  Sir  George 
Trevelyan  leaning  over  Westminster  Bridge  that 
in  the  end  he  missed  him. 

When  Andrew  made  up  his  mind  to  have  a  man 
he  got  to  like  him.     This  was  his  danger. 

With  press  tickets,  which  he  got  very  cheap, 
he  often  looked  in  at  the  theatres  to  acquaint  him- 
self with  the  faces  and  figures  of  the  constant 
frequenters. 

He  drew  capital  pencil  sketches  of  the  leading 
critics  in  his  note-book. 

The  gentleman  next  him  that  night  at  "Man- 
teaux  Noirs  "  would  not  have  laughed  so  heartily 
if  he  had  known  why  Andrew  listened  for  his 
address  to  the  cabman. 

The  young  Scotchman  resented  people's  merri- 
ment over  nothing  ;  sometimes  he  took  the  under- 
ground railway  just  to  catch  clerks  at  Tit-hits. 

One  afternoon  he  saw  some  way  in  front  of 
him  in  Piccadilly  a  man  with  a  young  head  on 
old  shoulders. 

Andrew  recognized  him  by  the  swing  of  his 
stick  ;  he  could  have  identified  his  plaid  among  a 
hundred  thousand  morning  coats.  It  was  John 
Stewart  Blackie,  his  favorite  professor. 

Since  the  young  man  graduated,  his  old  precep- 
tor had  resigned  his  chair,  and  was  now  devoting 


BETTER  DEAD.  259 

his  time  to  writing  sonnets  to  himself  in  the 
Scotch  newspapers. 

Andrew  could  not  bear  to  think  of  it,  and 
quickened  his  pace  to  catch  him  up.  But  Blackie 
was  in  great  form,  humming  "Scots  wha  hae." 
With  head  thrown  back,  staff  revolving,  and  chest 
inflated,  he  sang  himself  into  a  martial  ecstasy, 
and,  drumming  cheerily  on  the  doors  with  his 
fist,  strutted  along  like  a  band  of  bag-pipers  with 
clan  behind  him,  until  he  had  played  himself  out 
of  Andrew's  sight. 

Far  be  it  from  our  intention  to  maintain  that 
Andrew  was  invariably  successful.  That  is  not 
given  to  any  man. 

Sometimes  his  hands  slipped. 

Had  he  learned  the  piano  in  his  younger  days 
this  might  not  have  happened.  But  it  he  had 
been  a  pianist  the  president  would  probably  have 
wiped  him  out — and  very  rightly.  There  can  be 
no  doubt  about  male  pianists. 

Nor  was  the  fault  always  Andrew's.  When  the 
society  was  founded,  many  far-seeing  men  had  got 
wind  of  it,  and  had  themselves  elected  honorary 
members  before  the  committee  realized  what  they 
were  after. 

This  was  a  sore  subject  with  the  president  ; 
he  shunned  discussing  it,  and  thus  Andrew  had 
frequently  to  discontinue  cases  after  he  was  well 
on  with  them. 

In  this  way  inuch  time  was  lost. 


26o  BETTER  DEAD. 

Andrew  was  privately  thanked  by  the  com- 
mittee for  one  suggestion,  which,  for  all  he  knows, 
may  yet  be  carried  out.  The  president  had  a 
wide  interest  in  the  press,  and  on  one  occasion 
he  remarked  to  Andrew  : 

"Think  of  the  snobs  and  the  prigs  who  would 
be  saved  if  the  Saturday  Review  and  the  Spectator 
could  be  induced  to  cease  publication  !  " 

Andrew  thought  it  out,  and  then  produced  his 
scheme. 

The  battle  of  the  clans  on  the  North  Inch  of 
Perth  had  always  seemed  to  him  a  master-stroke 
of  diplomacy. 

''Why,"  he  said  to  the  president,  ''not  set  the 
Saturday's  staff  against  the  Spectator's  ?  If  about 
equally  matched,  they  might  exterminate  each 
other." 

So  his  days  of  probation  passed,  and  the  time 
drew  nigh  for  Andrew  to  show  what  stuff  was 
in  him. 


BETTER  DEAD.  261 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

Andrew  had  set  apart  July  31st  for  killing  Lord 
Randolph  Churchill. 

As  his  term  of  probation  was  up  in  the  second 
week  of  August,  this  would  leave  him  nearly  a 
fortnight  to  finish  his  thesis  in. 

On  the  30th  he  bought  a  knife  in  Holborn  suit- 
able for  his  purpose.  It  had  been  his  original 
intention  to  use  an  electric  rifle,  but  those  he  was 
shown  were  too  cumbrous  for  use  in  the  streets. 

The  eminent  statesman  was  residing  at  this 
time  at  the  Grand  Hotel,  and  Andrew  thought  to 
get  him  somewhere  between  Trafalgar  Square  and 
the  House.  Taking  up  his  position  in  a  window 
of  Morley's  Hotel  at  an  early  hour,  he  set  him- 
self to  watch  the  windows  opposite.  The  plan 
of  the  Grand  was  well  known  to  him,  for  he  had 
frequently  made  use  of  it  as  overlooking  the 
National  Liberal  Club,  whose  membership  he  had 
already  slightly  reduced. 

Turning  his  eyes  to  the  private  sitting-rooms, 
he  soon  discovered  Lord  Randolph  busily  writing 
in  one  of  them. 

Andrew  had  lunch  at  Morley's,  so  that  he  might 


26?  BETTER  DEAD, 

be  prepared  for  any  emergency.  Lord  Randolph 
wrote  on  doggedly  through  the  forenoon,  and 
Andrew  hoped  he  would  finish  what  he  was  at 
in  case  this  might  be  his  last  chance. 

It  rained  all  through  the  afternoon.  The  thick 
drizzle  seemed  to  double  the  width  of  the  street, 
and  even  to  Andrew's  strained  eyes  the  shadow 
in  the  room  opposite  was  obscured. 

His  eyes  wandered  from  the  window  to  the 
hotel  entrance,  and  as  cab  after  cab  rattled  from 
it  he  became  uneasy. 

In  ordinary  circumstances  he  could  have  picked 
his  man  out  anywhere,  but  in  rain  all  men  look 
alike.  He  could  have  dashed  across  the  street 
and  rushed  from  room  to  room  of  the  Grand  Hotel. 

His  self-restraint  was  rewarded. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  Lord  Randolph  came  to 
the  window.  The  flashing  water-proofs  and 
scurrying  umbrellas  were  a  surprise  to  him,  and 
he  knitted  his  brows  in  annoyance. 

By  and  by  his  face  was  convulsed  with 
laughter. 

He  drew  a  chair  to  the  window  and  stood  on 
it,  that  he  might  have  a  better  view  of  the  pave- 
ment beneath. 

For  some  twenty  minutes  he  remained  there 
smacking  his  thighs,  his  shoulders  heaving  with 
glee. 

Andrew  could  not  see  what  it  was,  but  he 
formulated  a  theory. 


BETTER  DEAD.  263 

Heavy  blobs  of  rain  that  had  gathered  on  the 
window  sill  slowly  released  their  hold  from  time 
to  time  and  fell  with  a  plump  on  the  hats  of 
passers-by.     Lord  Randolph  was  watching  them. 

Just  as  they  were  letting  go  he  shook  the 
window  to  make  the  wayfarers  look  up.  They 
got  the  rain-drops  full  in  the  face,  and  then  he 
screamed. 

About  six  o'clock  Andrew  paid  his  bill  hur- 
riedly and  ran  downstairs.  Lord  Randolph  had 
come  to  the  window  in  his  great-coat.  His  fol- 
lower waited  for  him  outside.  It  was  possible 
that  he  would  take  a  hansom  and  drive  straight 
to  the  House,  but  Andrew  had  reasons  for  think- 
ing this  unlikely.  The  rain  had  somewhat 
abated.  Lord  Randolph  came  out,  put  up  his 
umbrella,  and,  glancing  at  the  sky  for  a  moment, 
set  off  briskly  up  St.  Martin's  Lane. 

Andrew  knew  that  he  would  not  linger  here, 
for  they  had  done  St.  Martin's  Lane  already. 

Lord  Randolph's  movements  these  last  days 
had  excited  the  Scotchman's  curiosity.  He  had 
been  doing  the  London  streets  systematically 
during  his  unoccupied  afternoons.  But  it  was 
difficult  to  discover  what  he  was  after. 

It  was  the  tobacconist's  shops  that  attracted  him. 

He  did  not  enter,  only  stood  at  the  windows 
counting  something. 

He  jotted  down  the  result  on  a  piece  of  paper 
and  then  sped  on  to  the  next  shop. 


264  BETTER  DEAD. 

In  this  way,  with  Andrew  at  his  heels,  he  had 
done  the  whole  of  the  W.  C.  district,  St.  James', 
Oxford  Street,  Piccadilly,  Bond  Street,  and  the 
Burlington  Arcade. 

On  this  occasion  he  took  the  small  thorough- 
fares lying  between  upper  Regent  Street  and  Tot- 
tenham Court  Road.  Beginning  in  Great  Titch- 
field  Street  he  went  from  tobacconist's  to  tobac- 
conist's, sometimes  smiling  to  himself,  at  other 
times  frowning.  Andrew  scrutinized  the  windows 
as  he  left  them,  but  could  make  nothing  of  it. 

Not  for  the  first  time  he  felt  that  there  could  be 
no  murder  to-night  unless  he  saw  the  paper  first. 

Lord  Randolph  devoted  an  hour  to  this  work. 
Then  he  hailed  a  cab. 

Andrew  expected  this.  But  the  statesman  still 
held  the  paper  loosely  in  his  hand. 

It  was  a  temptation. 

Andrew  bounded  forward  as  if  to  open  the  cab 
door,  pounced  upon  the  paper  and  disappeared 
with  it  up  an  alley.  After  five  minutes'  dread  lest 
he  might  be  pursued,  he  struck  a  match  and 
read : 

"Great  Titchfield  Street— Branscombe  15, 
Churchill  11,  Langtry  8,  Gladstone  4. 

*'  Mortimer  Street — Langtry  11,  Branscombe  9, 
Gladstone  6,  Mary  Anderson  6,  Churchill  3. 

''Margaret  Street — Churchill  7,  Anderson  6, 
Branscombe  5,  Gladstone  4,  Chamberlain  4. 

''Smaller streets — Churchill  14,  Branscombe  13, 


BETTER  DEAD.  265 

Gladstone  9,  Langtry  9.  Totals  for  to-day  : 
Churchill  35,  Langtry  28,  Gladstone  23,  Brans- 
combe  42,  Anderson  12,  Chamberlain  nowhere." 
Then  followed,  as  if  in  a  burst  of  passion, 
**Branscombe  still  leading — confound  her." 

Andrew  saw  that  Lord  Randolph  had  been 
calculating  fame  from  Vesta  boxes. 

For  a  moment  this  discovery  sent  Andrew's 
mind  wandering.  Miss  Branscombe's  photo- 
graphs obstructed  the  traffic.  Should  not  this  be 
put  a  stop  to  ?     Ah,  but  she  was  a  woman  ! 

This  recalled  him  to  himself.  Lord  Randolph 
had  departed,  probably  for  St.  Stephen's. 

Andrew  jumped  into  a  hansom.  He  felt  like 
an  exotic  in  a  glass  frame. 

"The  House,"  he  said. 

What  a  pity  his  mother  could  not  have  seen 
him  then  ! 

Perhaps  Andrew  was  prejudiced.  Undoubtedly, 
he  was  in  a  mood  to  be  easily  pleased. 

In  his  opinion,  at  any  rate,  Lord  Randolph's 
speech  that  night  on  the  Irish  question  was  the 
best  he  ever  delivered. 

It  came  on  late  in  the  evening,  and  he  stuck  to 
his  text  like  a  clergyman.  He  quoted  from 
Hansard  to  prove  that  Mr.  Gladstone  did  not 
know  what  he  was  talking  about ;  he  blazed  out 
against  the  Parnellites  till  they  were  called  to 
order.  The  ironical  members  who  cried  ''Hear! 
hear  !  "  regretted  it. 


266  BETTER  DEAD. 

He  had  never  been  wittier,  never  more  con- 
vincing, never  so  magnificently  vituperative. 

Andrew  was  lifted  out  of  himself.  He  jumped 
in  ecstasy  to  his  feet.  It  was  he  who  led  the 
applause. 

He  felt  that  this  was  a  worthy  close  to  a  brill- 
iant career. 

We  oldsters  looking  on  more  coolly  could  have 
seen  where  the  speech  was  lacking,  so  far  as 
Andrew  was  concerned.  It  is  well  known  that 
when  a  great  man,  of  whom  there  will  be  biog- 
raphers, is  to  die  a  violent  death,  his  last  utter- 
ances are  strangely  significant,  as  if  he  foresaw 
his  end. 

There  was  nothing  of  this  in  Lord  Randolph's 
speech. 

The  House  was  thinning  when  the  noble  lord 
rose  to  go.     Andrew  joined  him  at  the  gate. 

The  Scotchman's  nervous  elation  had  all  gone. 
A  momentary  thrill  passed  through  his  veins  as 
he  remembered  that  in  all  probability  they  would 
never  be  together  again.  After  that  he  was  quite 
calm. 

The  night  was  black. 

The  rain  had  ceased,  but  for  an  occasional 
drop  shaken  out  of  a  shivering  star. 

But  for  a  few  cabs  rolling  off  with  politicians, 
Whitehall  was  deserted. 

The  very  tax-collectors  seemed  to  have  got  to 
bed. 


BETTER  DEAD.  267 

Lord  Randolph  shook  hands  with  two  or  three 
other  members  homeward  bound,  walked  a  short 
distance  with  one  of  them,  and  then  set  off  to- 
ward his  hotel  alone. 

His  pace  was  leisurely,  as  that  of  a  man  in 
profound  thought. 

There  was  no  time  to  be  lost ;  but  Andrew 
dallied. 

Once  he  crept  up  and  could  have  done  it.  He 
thought  he  would  give  him  another  minute. 

There  was  a  footstep  behind,  and  he  fell  back. 

It  was  Sir  William  Harcourt.  Lord  Randolph 
heard  him,  and,  seeing  who  it  was,  increased 
his  pace. 

The  illustrious  Liberal  slackened  at  the  same 
moment. 

Andrew  bit  his  lip  and  hurried  on. 

Some  time  was  lost  in  getting  round  Sir  Wil- 
liam. 

He  was  advancing  in  strides  now. 

Lord  Randolph  saw  that  he  was  pursued. 

When  Andrew  began  to  run,  he  ran  too. 

There  were  not  ten  yards  between  them  at 
Whitehall  Place. 

A  large  man  turning  the  comer  of  Great  Scot- 
land Yard  fell  against  Andrew.  He  was  wheeled 
aside,  but  Mr.  Chaplin  had  saved  a  colleague's 
life. 

With  a  cry  Andrew  bounded  on,  his  knife  glis- 
tening. 


268  BETTER  DEAD. 

Trafalgar  Square  was  a  black  mass. 

Lord  Randolph  took  Northumberland  Avenue 
in  four  steps,  Andrew  almost  on  the  top  of  him. 

As  he  burst  through  the  door  of  the  Grand 
Hotel,  his  pursuer  made  one  tremendous  leap, 
and  his  knife,  catching  Lord  Randolph  in  the 
heel,  carried  away  his  shoe. 

Andrew's  face  had  struck  the  steps. 

He  heard  the  word  **  Fenian." 

There  was  a  rushing  to  and  fro  of  lights. 

Springing  to  his  feet,  he  thrust  the  shoe  into 
his  pocket  and  went  home. 


BETTER  DEAD,  269 


CHAPTER  IX. 

"Tie  this  muffler  round  your  neck." 

It  was  the  president  who  spoke.  Andrew  held 
his  thesis  in  his  hand. 

"But  the  rooms  are  so  close,"  he  said. 

"That  has  nothing  to  do  with  it,"  said  the 
president.  The  blood  rushed  to  his  head,  and 
then  left  him  pale. 

"  But  why } "  asked  Andrew. 

*'For  God's  sake,  do  as  I  bid  you,"  said  his 
companion,  pulling  himself  by  a  great  effort  to 
the  other  side  of  the  room. 

"  You  have  done  it  ?  "  he  asked,  carefully  avoid- 
ing Andrew's  face. 

"Yes,  but " 

"Then  we  can  go  in  to  the  others.  Remem- 
ber what  I  told  you  about  omitting  the  first  seven 
pages.  The  society  won't  stand  introductory 
remarks  in  a  thesis. " 

The  committee  were  assembled  in  the  next 
room. 

When  the  young  Scotchman  entered  with  the 
president,  they  looked  him  full  in  the  neck. 

"  He  is  suffering  from  cold,"  the  president  said. 


270  BETTER  DEAD. 

No  one  replied,  but  angry  eyes  were  turned  on 
the  speaker.  He  somewhat  nervously  placed 
his  young  friend  in  a  bad  light,  with  a  table  be- 
tween him  and  his  hearers. 

Then  Andrew  began. 

''The  Society  for  Doing  Without,"  he  read, 
''has  been  tried  and  found  wanting.  It  has  now 
been  in  existence  for  some  years,  and  its  mem- 
bers have  worked  zealously,  though  unostenta- 
tiously. 

"I  am  far  from  saying  a  word  against  them. 
They  are  patriots  as  true  as  ever  petitioned 
against  the  Channel  Tunnel." 

"No  compliments,"  whispered  the  president, 
warningly.  Andrew  hastily  turned  a  page,  and 
continued  : 

"But  what  have  they  done?  Removed  an  in- 
dividual here  and  there.     That  is  the  extent  of  it. 

"  You  have  been  pursuing  a  half-hearted  policy. 
You  might  go  on  for  centuries  at  this  rate  before 
you  made  any  perceptible  difference  in  the 
streets. 

"Have  you  ever  seen  a  farmer  thinning  tur- 
nips ?  Gentlemen,  there  is  an  example  for  you. 
My  proposal  is  that  everybody  .should  have  to 
die  on  reaching  the  age  of  forty-five  years. 

"  It  has  been  the  wish  of  this  society  to  avoid 
the  prejudices  engendered  of  party  strife.  But 
though  you  are  a  social  rather  than  a  political 
organization,  you  cannot  escape  politics.     You 


BETTER  DEAD.  271 

do  not  call  yourselves  Radicals,  but  you  work 
for  Radicalism.  What  is  Radicalism  ?  It  is  a 
desire  to  get  a  chance.  This  is  an  aspiration  in- 
herent in  the  human  breast.  It  is  felt  most  keenly 
by  the  poor. 

'*  Make  the  poor  rich,  and  the  hovels,  the  mis- 
ery, the  immorality,  and  the  crime  of  the  East 
End  disappear.  It  is  infamous,  say  the  socialists, 
that  this  is  not  done  at  once.  Yes,  but  how  is  it 
to  be  done  ?  Not,  as  they  hold,  by  making  the 
classes  and  the  masses  change  places.  Not  on 
the  lines  on  which  the  society  has  hitherto  worked. 
There  is  only  one  way,  and  I  make  it  my  text  to- 
night. Fortunately,  it  presents  no  considerable 
difficulties. 

"It  is  well  known  in  medicine  that  the  sim- 
plest— in  other  words,  the  most  natural — reme- 
dies may  be  the  most  efficacious. 

''  So  it  is  in  the  social  life.  What  shall  we  do, 
society  asks,  with  our  boys.?  I  reply.  Kill  off  the 
parents. 

"There  can  be  little  doubt  that  forty-five  years 
is  long  enough  for  a  man  to  live.  Parents  must 
see  that.     Youth  is  the  time  to  have  your  fling. 

"  Let  us  see  how  this  plan  would  revolutionize 
the  world.  It  would  make  statesmen  hurry  up. 
At  present,  they  are  nearly  fifty  before  you  hear 
of  them.  How  can  we  expect  the  country  to  be 
properly  governed  by  men  in  their  dotage  ? 

"Again,  take  the  world  of  letters.     Why  does 


272  BETTER  DEAD. 

the  literary  aspirant  have  such  a  struggle  ?  Sim- 
ply because  the  profession  is  overstocked  with 
seniors.  I  would  like  to  know  what  Tennyson's 
age  is,  and  Ruskin's,  and  Browning's.  Every  one 
of  them  is  over  seventy,  and  all  writing  away  yet 
as  lively  as  you  like.     It  is  a  crying  scandal. 

**  Things  are  the  same  in  medicine,  art,  div- 
inity, law — in  short,  in  every  profession  and  in 
every  trade. 

"■  Young  ladies  cry  out  that  this  is  not  a  marry- 
ing age.  How  can  it  be  a  marrying  age,  with 
gray-headed  parents  everywhere.?  Give  young 
men  their  chance,  and  they  will  marry  younger 
than  ever,  if  only  to  see  their  children  grown  up 
before  they  die. 

''A  word  in  conclusion.  Looking  around  me, 
I  cannot  but  see  that  most,  if  not  all,  of  my  hear- 
ers have  passed  what  should  plainly  be  the  allot- 
ted span  of  life  to  man.     You  would  have  to  go. 

''But,  gentlemen,  you  w^ould  do  so  feeling  that 
you  were  setting  a  noble  example.  Younger, 
and — may  I  say  .? — more  energetic  men  would  fill 
your  places  and  carry  on  your  work.  You  would 
hardly  be  missed." 

Andrew  rolled  up  his  thesis  blandly,  and  strode 
into  the  next  room  to  await  the  committee's  de- 
cision. It  cannot  be  said  that  he  felt  the  slight- 
est uneasiness. 

The  president  followed,  shutting  the  door  be- 
hind him. 


BETTER  DEAD,  273 

"You  have  just  two  minutes,"  he  said. 

Andrew  could  not  understand  it. 

His  hat  was  crushed  on  to  his  head,  his  coat 
flung  at  him,  he  was  pushed  out  at  a  window, 
squeezed  through  a  grating,  and  tumbled  into  a 
passage. 

**What  is  the  matter?  "  he  asked,  as  the  presi- 
dent dragged  him  down  a  back  street. 

The  president  pointed  to  the  window  they  had 
just  left. 

Half  a  dozen  infuriated  men  were  climbing 
from  it  in  pursuit.  Their  faces,  drunk  with  rage, 
awoke  Andrew  to  a  sense  of  his  danger. 

"They  were  drawing  lots  for  you  when  I  left 
the  room,"  said  the  president. 

'*  But  what  have  I  done  ?  "  gasped  Andrew. 

*'They  didn't  like  your  thesis.  At  least,  they 
make  that  their  excuse." 

"Excuse?" 

"Yes  ;  it  was  really  your  neck  that  did  it." 

By  this  time  they  were  in  a  cab,  rattling  into 
Gray's  Inn  Road. 

"They  are  a  poor  lot,"  said  Andrew,  fiercely, 
"  if  they  couldn't  keep  their  heads  over  my  neck. " 

"They  are  only  human,"  retorted  the  presi- 
dent. "  For  Heaven's  sake,  pull  up  the  collar  of 
your  coat. " 

His  fingers  were  itching,  but  Andrew  did  not 

notice  it. 

"Where  are  we  going?"  he  asked. 
18 


274  BETTER  DEAD. 

''  To  King's  Cross.  The  midnight  express 
leaves  in  twenty  minutes.     It  is  your  last  chance. " 

Andrew  was  in  a  daze.  When  the  president  had 
taken  his  ticket  for  Glasgow  he  was  still  groping. 

The  railway  officials  probably  thought  him  on 
his  honeymoon. 

They  sauntered  along  the  platform  beyond  the 
lights. 

Andrew,  who  was  very  hot,  unloosened  his 
great- coat. 

In  a  moment  a  great  change  came  over  his 
companion.  All  the  humanity  went  from  his 
face,  his  whole  figure  shook,  and  it  was  only  by 
a  tremendous  effort  that  he  chained  his  hands  to 
his  sides. 

**Your  neck,"  he  cried;   "cover  it  up.*' 

Andrew  did  not  understand.  He  looked  about 
him  for  the  committee. 

*' There  are  none  of  them  here, "he  said  feebly. 

The  president  had  tried  to  warn  him. 

Now  he  gave  way. 

The  devil  that  was  in  him  leaped  at  Andrew's 
throat. 

The  young  Scotchman  was  knocked  into  a 
goods  wagon,  with  the  president  twisted  round 
him. 

At  that  moment  there  was  heard  the  whistle  of 
the  Scotch  express. 

**  Your  blood  be  on  your  own  head,"  cried  the 
president,  yielding  completely  to  temptation. 


BETTER  DEAD.  ^7$ 

His  fingers  met  round  the  young  man's  neck. 

''My  God!"  he  murmured,  in  a  delirious  ec- 
stasy, "what  a  neck,  what  a  neck  !  " 

Just  then  his  foot  slipped. 

He  fell.  Andrew  jumped  up  and  kicked  him 
as  hard  as  he  could  three  times. 

Then  he  leaped  to  the  platform,  and,  flinging 
himself  into  the  moving  train,  fell  exhausted  on 
the  seat. 

Andrew  never  thought  so  much  of  the  presi- 
dent again.  You  cannot  respect  a  man  and  kick 
him. 


276  BETTER  DEAD, 


CHAPTER  X. 

The  first  thing  Andrew  did  on  reaching  Wheens 
was  to  write  to  his  London  landlady  to  send  on 
his  box  with  clothes  by  goods  train  ;  also  his  to- 
bacco pouch,  which  he  had  left  on  the  mantel- 
piece, and  two  pencils  which  she  would  find  in 
the  tea-caddy. 

Then  he  went  round  to  the  manse. 

The  minister  had  great  news  for  him. 

The  master  of  the  Wheens  Grammer  School  had 
died.  Andrew  had  only  to  send  in  his  testimo- 
nials, and  the  post  was  his. 

The  salary  was  ^"200  per  annum,  with  an  assist- 
ant and  the  privilege  of  calling  himself  rector. 

This  settled,  Andrew  asked  for  Clarrie.  He 
was  humbler  now  than  he  had  been,  and  in  our 
disappointments  we  turn  to  woman  for  solace. 

Clarrie  had  been  working  socks  for  him,  and 
would  have  had  them  finished  by  this  time  had 
she  known  how  to  turn  the  heel. 

It  is  his  sweetheart  a  man  should  be  particular 
about.  Once  he  settles  down  it  does  not  much 
matter  whom  he  marries. 

All  this  and  much  more  the  good  old  minister 


BETTER  DEAD.  277 

pointed  out  to  Andrew.     Then  he  left  Clarrie  and 
her  lover  together. 

The  winsome  girl  held  one  of  the  socks  on  her 
knee — who  will  chide  her  ? — and  a  tear  glistened 
in  her  eye. 

Andrew  was  a  good  deal  afifected. 

"Clarrie,"  he  said  softly,  *'will  you  be  my 
wife?" 

She  clung  to  him  in  reply.  He  kissed  her 
fondly. 

"Clarrie,  beloved,"  he  said  nervously,  after  a 
long  pause,  "  how  much  are  seven  and  thirteen  ? " 

"Twenty- three,"  said  Clarrie,  putting  up  her 
mouth  to  his. 

Andrew  laughed  a  sad,  vacant  laugh. 

He  felt  that  he  would  never  understand  a 
woman.  But  his  fingers  wandered  through  her 
tobacco-colored  hair. 

He  had  a  strange  notion. 

"Put  your  arms  round  my  neck,"  he  whispered. 

Thus  the  old,  old  story  was  told  once  more. 

A  month  afterward  the  president  of  the  Society 
for  Doing  Without  received  by  post  a  box  of  bride- 
cake, adorned  with  the  silver  gilt  v/hich  is  also 
largely  used  for  coffins. 

****** 

More  than  two  years  have  passed  since  An- 
drew's marriage,  and  already  the  minister  has  two 
sweet  grandchildren,  in  whom  he  renews  his 
youth. 


278  BETTER  DEAD. 

Except  during  schoolhours  their  parents'  mar- 
ried life  is  one  long  honey-moon. 

Clarrie  has  put  Lord  Randolph  Churchill's  shoe 
into  a  glass  case  on  the  piano,  and,  as  is  only- 
natural,  Andrew  is  now  a  staunch  Conservative. 

Domesticated  and  repentant,  he  has  renounced 
the  devil  and  all  her  works. 

Sometimes,  when  thinking  of  the  past,  the  bab- 
ble of  his  lovely  babies  jars  upon  him,  and,  still  half- 
dreaming,  he  brings  their  heads  close  together. 

At  such  a  time  all  the  anxious  mother  has  to 
say  is  : 

* 'Andrew  ! " 

Then  with  a  start  he  lays  them  gently  in  a  heap 
on  the  floor,  and,  striding  the  room,  soon  regains 
his  composure. 

For  Andrew  has  told  Clarrie  all  the  indiscre- 
tions of  his  life  in  London,  and  she  has  forgiven 
everything. 

Ah,  what  will  not  a  wife  forgive  ! 


PENCIL  PORTRAITS   FROM 
COLLEGE  LIFE. 


I. 

LORD  ROSEBERY. 

The  first  time  I  ever  saw  Lord  Rosebery  was  in 
Edinburgh  when  I  was  a  student,  and  I  flung  a  clod 
of  earth  at  him.  He  was  a  peer;  those  were  my 
politics. 

I  missed  him,  and  I  have  heard  a  good  many 
journalists  say  since  then  that  he  is  a  difficult  man 
to  hit.  One  who  began  by  liking  him  and  is  now 
scornful,  which  is  just  the  reverse  process  from  mine, 
told  me  the  reason  why.  He  had  some  brochures  to 
write  on  the  Liberal  leaders,  and  got  on  nicely  till  he 
reached  Lord  Rosebery,  where  he  stuck.  In  vain 
he  walked  round  his  lordship,  looking  for  an  open- 
ing. The  man  was  naturally  indignant ;  he  is  the 
father  of  a  family. 

Lord  Rosebery  is  forty-one  years  of  age,  and  has 
missed  many  opportunities  of  becoming  the  bosom 

279 


28o  LORD  ROSEBERY. 

friend  of  Lord  Randolph  Churchill.  They  were  at 
Eton  together  and  at  Oxford,  and  have  met  since. 
As  a  boy,  the  Liberal  played  at  horses,  and  the  Tory 
at  running  off  with  other  boys'  caps.  Lord  Ran- 
dolph was  the  more  distinguished  at  the  university. 
One  day  a  proctor  ran  him  down  in  the  streets 
smoking  in  his  cap  and  gown.  The  undergraduate 
remarked  on  the  changeability  of  the  weather,  but 
the  proctor,  gasping  at  such  bravado,  demanded  his 
name  and  college.  Lord  Randolph  failed  to  turn  up 
next  day  at  St.  Edmund  Hall  to  be  lectured,  but 
strolled  to  the  proctor's  house  about  dinner-time. 
"  Does  a  fellow,  name  of  Moore,  live  here  ? "  he 
asked.  The  footman  contrived  not  to  faint.  "  He 
do,"  he  replied  severely;  *'but  he  are  at  dinner." 
"  Ah !  take  him  in  my  card,"  said  the  unabashed 
caller.  The  Merton  books  tell  that  for  this  the 
noble  lord  was  fined  ten  pounds. 

There  was  a  time  when  Lord  Rosebery  would 
have  reformed  the  House  of  Lords  to  a  site  nearer 
Newmarket.  As  politics  took  a  firmer  grip  of  him, 
it  was  Newmarket  that  seemed  a  long  way  off.  One 
day  at  Edinburgh  he  realized  the  disadvantage  of 
owning  swift  horses.  His  brougham  had  met  him 
at  Waverley  Station  to  take  him  to  Dalmeny.  Lord 
Roseberry  opened  the  door  of  the  carriage  to  put  in 
some  papers,  and  then  turned  away.  The  coach- 
man, too  well  bred  to  look  round,  heard  the  door 
shut,  and,  thinking  that  his  master  was  inside,  set 
off  at  once.     Pursuit  was  attempted,  but  what  was 


LORD  ROSEBERY.  281 

there  in  Edinburgh  streets  to  make  up  on  those 
horses  !  The  coachman  drove  seven  miles,  until  he 
reached  a  point  in  the  Dalmeny  parks  where  it  was 
his  lordship's  custom  to  alight  and  open  a  gate. 
Here  the  brougham  stood  for  some  minutes,  await- 
ing Lord  Rosebery's  convenience.  At  last  the 
coachman  became  uneasy  and  dismounted.  His 
brain  reeled  when  he  saw  an  empty  brougham.  He 
could  have  sworn  to  seeing  his  lordship  enter.  There 
were  his  papers.  What  had  happened?  With  a 
quaking  hand  the  horses  were  turned,  and,  driving 
back,  the  coachman  looked  fearfully  along  the  sides 
of  the  road.  He  met  Lord  Rosebery  travelling  in 
great  good  humor  by  the  luggage  omnibus. 

Whatever  is  to  be  Lord  Rosebery's  future,  he  has 
reached  that  stage  in  a  statesman's  career  when  his 
opponents  cease  to  question  his  capacity.  His 
speeches  showed  him  long  ago  a  man  of  brilliant 
parts.  His  tenure  of  the  Foreign  Office  proved  him 
heavy  metal.  Were  the  Gladstonians  to  return  to 
power,  the  other  Cabinet  posts  might  go  anywhere, 
but  the  Foreign  Secretary  is  arranged  for.  Where 
his  predecessors  had  clouded  their  meaning  in  words 
till  it  was  as  wrapped  up  as  a  Mussulman's  head, 
Lord  Rosebery's  were  the  straightforward  de- 
spatches of  a  man  with  his  mind  made  up.  German 
influence  was  spoken  of;  Count  Herbert  Bis- 
marck had  been  seen  shooting  Lord  Roseberry's 
partridges.  This  was  the  evidence  :  there  has  never 
been  any  other,  except  that  German  methods  com- 


282  LORD  ROSEBERY. 

mended  themselves  to  the  minister  rather  than 
those  of  France.  His  relations  with  the  French 
government  were  cordial.  "  The  talk  of  Bismarck's 
shadow  behind  Rosebery,"  a  great  French  politi- 
cian said  lately,  "  I  put  aside  with  a  smile ;  but  how 
about  the  Jews  ?  "  Probably  few  persons  realize 
what  a  power  the  Jews  are  in  Europe,  and  in  Lord 
Rosebery's  position  he  is  a  strong  man  if  he  holds 
his  own  with  them.  Any  fears  on  that  ground  have, 
I  should  say,  been  laid  by  his  record  at  the  Foreign 
Office. 

Lord  Rosebery  had  once  a  conversation  with 
Prince  Bismarck,  to  which,  owing  to  some  oversight, 
the  Paris  correspondent  of  the  Times  was  not  in- 
vited. M.  Blowitz  only  smiled  good-naturedly,  and 
of  course  his  report  of  the  proceedings  appeared  all 
the  same.  Some  time  afterward  Lord  Rosebery 
was  introduced  to  this  remarkable  man,  who,  as  is 
well  known,  carries  Cabinet  appointments  in  his 
pocket,  and  complimented  him  on  his  report.  "  Ah, 
it  was  all  right,  was  it  ? "  asked  Blowitz,  beaming. 
Lord  Rosebery  explained  that  any  fault  it  had  was 
that  it  was  all  wrong.  "  Then  if  Bismarck  did  not 
say  that  to  you,"  said  Blowitz,  regally,  "  I  know  he 
intended  to  say  it." 

The  "Uncrowned  King  of  Scotland"  is  a  title 
that  has  been  made  for  Lord  Rosebery,  whose 
country  has  had  faith  in  him  from  the  beginning. 
Mr.  Gladstone  is  the  only  other  man  who  can  make 
so  many  Scotsmen  take  politics  as  if  it  were  the 


LORD  ROSEBERY.  283 

Highland  Fling.  Once  when  Lord  Rosebery  was 
firing  an  Edinburgh  audience  to  the  delirium  point, 
an  old  man  in  the  hall  shouted  out,  "  I  dinna  hear  a 
word  he  says,  but  it's  grand,  it's  grand  !  "  During 
the  first  Midlothian  campaign  Mr.  Gladstone  and 
Lord  Rosebery  were  the  father  and  son  of  the  Scot- 
tish people.  Lord  Rosebery  rode  into  fame  on  the 
top  of  that  wave,  and  he  has  kept  his  place  in  the 
hearts  of  the  people,  and  in  oleographs  on  their 
walls,  ever  since.  In  all  Scottish  matters  he  has  the 
enthusiasm  of  a  Burns  dinner,  and  his  humor  en- 
ables him  to  pay  compliments.  When  he  says 
agreeable  things  to  Scotsmen  about  their  country, 
there  is  a  twinkle  in  his  eye  and  in  theirs  to  which 
English  scribes  cannot  give  a  meaning.  He  has 
unveiled  so  many  Burns  statues  that  an  American 
lecturess  explains  :  "  Curious  thing,  but  I  feel  some- 
how I  am  connected  with  Lord  Rosebery.  I  go  to 
a  place  and  deliver  a  lecture  on  Burns  ;  they  collect 
subscriptions  for  a  statue,  and  he  unveils  it."  Such 
is  the  delight  of  the  Scottish  students  in  Lord  Rose- 
bery that  he  may  be  said  to  have  made  the  tri- 
umphal tour  of  the  northern  universities  as  their  lord- 
rector  ;  he  lost  the  post  in  Glasgow  lately  through  a 
quibble,  but  had  the  honor  with  the  votes.  His  ad- 
dress to  the  Edinburgh  undergraduates  on  "  Patriot- 
ism "  was  the  best  thing  he  ever  did  outside  politics, 
and  made  the  students  his  for  life.  Some  of  them 
had  smuggled  into  the  hall  a  chair  with  "Gaelic 
chair "  placarded  on  it,  and  the  lord-rector  unwit- 


284  LORD  ROSEBERY. 

tingly  played  into  their  hands.  In  a  noble  perora- 
tion he  exhorted  his  hearers  to  high  aims  in  life. 
"  Raise  your  country,"  he  exclaimed  [cheers]  ; 
"  raise  yourselves  [renewed  cheering]  ;  raise  your 
university  [thunders  of  applause]."  From  the  back 
of  the  hall  came  a  solemn  voice,  "  Raise  the  chair  ! " 
Up  went  the  Gaelic  chair. 

Even  Lord  Rosebery's  views  on  imperial  federa- 
tion can  become  a  compliment  to  Scotland.  Hav- 
ing been  all  over  the  world  himself,  and  felt  how  he 
grew  on  his  travels.  Lord  Rosebery  maintains  that 
every  British  statesman  should  visit  India  and  the 
colonies.  He  said  that  first  at  a  semi-public  dinner 
in  the  country — and  here  I  may  mention  that  on 
such  occasions  he  has  begun  his  speeches  less  fre- 
quently than  any  other  prominent  politician  with  a 
statement  that  others  could  be  got  to  discharge  the 
duty  better ;  in  other  words,  he  has  several  times 
omitted  this  introduction.  On  his  return  to  London 
he  was  told  that  his  colleagues  in  the  Administration 
had  been  seeing  how  his  scheme  would  work  out. 
"  We  found  that  if  your  rule  were  enforced,  the 
Cabinet  would  consist  of  yourself  and  Childers." 
"  This  would  be  an  ideal  Cabinet,"  Lord  Rosebery 
subsequently  remarked  in  Edinburgh,  "for  it  would 
be  entirely  Scottish,"  Mr.  Childers  being  member 
for  a  Scottish  constituency. 

The  present  unhappy  division  of  the  Liberal  party 
has  made  enemies  of  friends  for  no  leading  man 
so  little  as  for  Lord  Rosebery.     There  are  forces 


LORD  ROSEBERY.  285 

working  against  him,  no  doubt,  in  comparatively 
high  places,  but  the  Unionists  have  kept  their  re- 
spect for  him.  His  views  may  be  wrong,  but  he  is 
about  the  only  Liberal  leader,  with  the  noble  excep- 
tion of  Lord  Hartington,  of  whom  troublous  times 
have  not  rasped  the  temper.  Though  a  great  reader, 
he  is  not  a  literary  man  like  Mr.  Morley,  who  would, 
however,  be  making  phrases  where  Lord  Rosebery 
would  make  laws.  Sir  William  Harcourt  has  been 
spoken  of  as  a  possible  prime  minister,  but  surely  it 
will  never  come  to  that.  If  Mr.  Gladstone's  succes- 
sor is  chosen  from  those  who  have  followed  him  on 
the  home-rule  question,  he  probably  was  not  rash  in 
himself  naming  Lord  Rosebery. 

Lord  Rosebery  could  not  now  step  up  without 
stepping  into  the  premiership.  His  humor,  which  is 
his  most  obvious  faculty,  has  been  a  prop  to  him 
many  a  time  ere  now,  but,  if  I  was  his  adviser,  I 
should  tell  him  that  it  has  served  its  purpose. 
There  are  a  great  many  excellent  people  who  shake 
their  heads  over  it  in  a  man  who  has  become  a  power 
in  the  land.  "  Let  us  be  grave,"  said  Dr.  Johnson 
once  to  a  merry  companion,  "  for  here  comes  a  fool." 
In  an  unknown  novel  there  is  a  character  who  says 
of  himself  that  "  he  is  not  stupid  enough  ever  to  be 
a  great  man."  I  happen  to  know  that  this  reflection 
was  evolved  by  the  author  out  of  thinking  over  Lord 
Rosebery.  It  is  not  easy  for  a  bright  man  to  be 
heavy,  and  Lord  Rosebery's  humor  is  so  sponta- 
neous that  if  a  joke  is  made  in  their  company  he 


286  LORD  ROSEBERY. 

has  always  finished  laughing  before  Lord  Harting- 
ton  begins.  Perhaps  when  Lord  Rosebery  is  on 
the  point  of  letting  his  humor  run  off  with  him  in  a 
public  speech,  he  could  recover  his  solemnity  by 
thinking  of  the  Examiner, 


ir. 

PROFESSOR  MASSON. 

Though  a  man  might,  to  my  mind,  be  better 
employed  than  in  going  to  college,  it  is  his  own  fault 
if  he  does  not  strike  on  some  one  there  who  sends 
his  life  off  at  a  new  angle.  If,  as  I  take  it,  the 
glory  of  a  professor  is  to  give  elastic  minds  their 
proper  bent,  Masson  is  a  name  his  country  will 
retain  a  grip  of.  There  are  men  who  are  good  to 
think  of,  and  as  a  rule  we  only  know  them  from 
their  books.  Something  of  our  pride  in  life  would 
go  with  their  fall.  To  have  one  such  professor  at  a 
time  is  the  most  a  university  can  hope  of  human 
nature ;  so  Edinburgh  need  not  expect  another  just 
yet.  These,  of  course,  are  only  to  be  taken  as  the 
reminiscences  of  a  student.  I  seem  to  remember 
everything  Masson  said,  and  the  way  he  said  it. 

Having,  immediately  before  taken  lodgings  in  a 
crow's  nest,  my  first  sight  of  Masson  was  specially 
impressive.  It  was  the  opening  of  the  session, 
when  fees  were  paid,  and  a  whisper  ran  round  the 
quadrangle  that  Masson  had  set  off  home  with  three 
hundred  one-pound  notes  stuffed  into  his  trouser 
pockets.     There  was  a  solemn  swell  of  awestruck 

287 


288  PROFESSOR  MASS  OAT. 

Students  to  the  gates,  and  some  of  us  could  not  help 
following  him.  He  took  his  pockets  coolly.  When 
he  stopped  it  was  at  a  second-hand  bookstall, 
where  he  rummaged  for  a  long  time.  Eventually  he 
pounced  upon  a  dusty,  draggled  little  volume,  and 
went  off  proudly  with  it  beneath  his  arm.  He 
seemed  to  look  suspiciously  at  strangers  now,  but  it 
was  not  the  money  but  the  book  he  was  keeping 
guard  over.  His  pockets,  however,  were  unmis- 
takably bulging  out.  I  resolved  to  go  in  for  liter- 
ature. 

Masson,  however,  always  comes  to  my  memory 
first  knocking  nails  into  his  desk  or  trying  to  tear 
the  gas-bracket  from  its  socket.  He  said  that  the 
Danes  scattered  over  England,  taking  such  a  hold 
as  a  nail  takes  when  it  is  driven  into  wood.  For 
the  moment  he  saw  his  desk  turned  into  England ; 
he  whirled  an  invisible  hammer  in  the  air,  and 
down  it  came  on  the  desk  with  a  crash.  No  one 
who  has  sat  under  Masson  can  forget  how  the 
Danes  nailed  themselves  upon  England.  His  desk 
is  thick  with  their  tombstones.  It  was  when  his 
mind  groped  for  an  image  that  he  clutched  the 
bracket.  He  seemed  to  tear  his  good  things  out  of 
it.  Silence  overcame  the  class.  Some  were  fasci- 
nated by  the  man  ;  others  trembled  for  the  bracket. 
It  shook,  groaned,  and  yielded.  Masson  said  an- 
other of  the  things  that  made  his  lectures  literature  ; 
the  crisis  was  passed;  and  everybody  breathed 
again. 


PROfi'ESSOR  MASSOJ^.  289 

He  masters  a  subject  by  letting  it  master  him  ; 
for  though  his  critical  reputation  is  built  on  honesty, 
it  is  his  enthusiasm  that  makes  his  work  warm  with 
life.  Sometimes  he  entered  the  class-room  so  full 
of  what  he  had  to  say  that  he  began  before  he 
reached  his  desk.  If  he  was  in  the  middle  of  a 
peroration  when  the  bell  rang,  even  the  back  benches 
forgot  to  empty.  There  were  the  inevitable  students 
to  whom  literature  is  a  trial,  and  sometimes  they 
call  attention  to  their  sufferings  by  a  scraping  of 
the  feet.  Then  the  professor  tried  to  fix  his  eye- 
glass on  them,  and  when  it  worked  properly  they 
were  transfixed.  As  a  rule,  however,  it  required  so 
many  adjustments  that  by  the  time  his  eye  took 
hold  of  it  he  had  remembered  that  students  were 
made  so,  and  his  indignation  went.  Then,  with  the 
light  in  his  eye  that  some  photographer  ought  to 
catch,  he  would  hope  that  his  lecture  was  not  dis- 
turbing their  conversation.  It  was  characteristic  of 
his  passion  for  being  just  that,  when  he  had  criti- 
cised some  writer  severely  he  would  remember  that 
the  backbenches  could  not  understand  that  criticism 
and  admiration  might  go  together,  unless  they  were 
told  so  again. 

The  test  of  a  sensitive  man  is  that  he  is  careful 
of  wounding  the  feelings  of  others.  Once,  I  re- 
member, a  student  was  reading  a  passage  aloud, 
assuming  at  the  same  time  such  an  attitude  that  the 
professor  could  not  help  remarking  that  he  looked 
like  a  teapot.  It  was  exactly  what  he  did  look  like, 
19 


29<5  PROFESSOR  MASSON. 

and  the  class  applauded.  But  next  moment  Masson 
had  apologized  for  being  personal.  Such  reminis- 
cences are  what  make  the  old  literature  class- 
room to  thousands  of  graduates  a  delight  to  think 
of. 

When  the  news  of  Carlyle's  death  reached  the 
room,  Masson  could  not  go  on  with  his  lecture. 
Every  one  knows  what  Carlyle  has  said  of  him  ;  and 
no  one  who  has  heard  it  will  ever  forget  what  he  has 
said  of  Carlyle.  Here  were  two  men  who  under- 
stood each  other.  One  of  the  Carlylean  pictures 
one  loves  to  dwell  on  shows  them  smoking  together, 
with  nothing  breaking  the  pauses  but  Mrs.  Carlyle's 
needles.  Carlyle  told  Masson  how  he  gave  up 
smoking  and  then  took  to  it  again.  He  had  walked 
from  Dumfriesshire  to  Edinburgh  to  consult  a  doctor 
about  his  health,  and  was  advised  to  lose  his  pipe. 
He  smoked  no  more,  but  his  health  did  not  improve, 
and  then  one  day  he  walked  in  a  wood.  At  the 
foot  of  a  tree  lay  a  pipe,  a  tobacco  pouch,  a  match- 
box. He  saw  clearly  that  this  was  a  case  of  Prov- 
idential interference,  and  from  that  moment  he 
smoked  again.  There  the  professor's  story  stops. 
I  have  no  doubt,  though,  that  he  nodded  his  head 
when  Carlyle  explained  what  the  pipe  and  tobacco 
were  doing  there.  Masson's  "  Milton "  is,  of 
course,  his  great  work,  but  for  sympathetic  analysis 
I  know  nothing  to  surpass  his  "  Chatterton." 
Lecturing  on  Chatterton  one  day,  he  remarked, 
with  a  slight  hesitation,  that  had  the  poet  mixed  a 


PROFESSOR  MASSON.  291 

little  more  in  company  and — and  smoked,  his  mor- 
bidness would  not  have  poisoned  him.  That  turned 
my  thoughts  to  smoking,  because  I  meant  to  be  a 
Chatterton,  but  greater.  Since  then  the  professor 
has  warned  me  against  smoking  too  much.  He  was 
smoking  at  the  time. 

This  is  no  place  to  follow  Masson's  career,  nor  to 
discuss  his  work.  To  reach  his  position  one  ought 
to  know  his  definition  of  a  man  of  letters.  It  is 
curious,  and,  like  most  of  his  departures  from  the 
generally  accepted,  sticks  to  the  memory.  By  a 
man  of  letters  he  does  not  mean  the  poet,  for  in- 
stance, who  is  all  soul,  so  much  as  the  strong- 
brained  writer  whose  guardian  angel  is  a  fine  sanity. 
He  used  to  mention  John  Skelton,  the  Wolsey  satir- 
ist, and  Sir  David  Lindsay,  as  typical  men  of  letters 
from  this  point  of  view,  and  it  is  as  a  man  of  letters 
of  that  class  that  Masson  is  best  considered.  In  an 
age  of  many  whipper-snappers  in  criticism,  he  is 
something  of  a  Gulliver. 

The  students  in  that  class  liked  to  see  their  pro- 
fessor as  well  as  hear  him.  I  let  my  hair  grow  long 
because  it  only  annoyed  other  people,  and  one  day 
there  was  dropped  into  my  hand  a  note  containing 
sixpence  and  the  words  :  "  The  students  sitting  be- 
hind you  present  their  compliments,  and  beg  that 
you  will  get  your  hair  cut  with  the  enclosed,  as  it  in- 
terferes with  their  view  of  the  professor." 

Masson,  when  he  edited  MacmillarCs,  had  all  the 
best  men  round  him.     His   talk  of  Thackeray  is 


292  PROP'ESSOR  MASSON. 

specially  interesting,  but  he  always  holds  that  in 
conversation  Douglas  Jerrold  was  unapproachable. 
Jerrold  told  him  a  good  story  of  his  seafaring  days. 
His  ship  was  lying  off  Gibraltar,  and  for  some  hours 
Jerrold,  though  only  a  midshipman,  was  left  in 
charge.  Some  of  the  sailors  begged  to  g<t\.  ashore, 
and  he  let  them,  on  the  promise  that  they  would 
bring  him  back  some  oranges.  One  of  them  disap- 
peared, and  the  midshipman  suffered  for  it.  More 
than  twenty  years  afterward  Jerrold  was  looking  in 
at  a  window  in  the  Strand  when  he  seemed  to  know 
the  face  of  a  weatherbeaten  man  who  was  doing  the 
same  thing.  Suddenly  he  remembered,  and  put  his 
hand  on  the  other's  shoulder.  "  My  man,"  he  said, 
"  you  have  been  a  long  time  with  those  oranges  !  " 
The  sailor  recognized  him,  turned  white,  and  took 
to  his  heels.  There  is,  too,  the  story  of  how  Dickens 
and  Jerrold  made  up  their  quarrel  at  the  Garrick 
Club.  It  was  the  occasion  on  which  Masson  first 
met  the  author  of  "  Pickwick. "  Dickens  and  Jer- 
rold had  not  spoken  for  a  year,  and  they  both  hap- 
pened to  have  friends  at  dinner  in  the  strangers' 
room,  Masson  being  Jerrold's  guest.  The  two 
host  sat  back  to  back,  but  did  not  address  each 
other,  though  the  conversation  was  general.  At 
last  Jerrold  could  stand  it  no  longer.  Turning,  he 
exclaimed,  "  Charley,  my  boy,  how  are  you  ? " 
Dickens  wheeled  round  and  grasped  his  hand. 

Many  persons  must  have  noticed  that,  in  appear- 
ance, Masson  is  becoming  more  and  more  like  Car- 


PROFESSOR  MASSON.  293 

lyle  every  year.  How  would  you  account  for  it  ? 
It  is  a  thing  his  old  students  often  discuss  when 
they  meet,  especially  those  of  them  who,  when  at 
college,  made  up  their  minds  to  dedicate  their  first 
book  to  him.  The  reason  they  seldom  do  it  is  be- 
cause the  book  does  not  seem  good  enough. 


III. 

PROFESSOR  JOHN  STUART  BLACKIE. 

Lately  I  was  told  that  Blackie — one  does  not 
say  Mr.  Cromwell — is  no  longer  professor  of  Greek 
in  Edinburgh  University.  What  nonsense  some 
people  talk !  As  if  Blackie  were  not  part  of  the 
building  !  In  his  class  one  day  he  spoke  touchingly 
of  the  time  when  he  would  have  to  join  Socrates  in 
the  Elysian  fields.  A  student  cheered — no  one 
knows  why.  "  It  won't  be  for  some  time  yet," 
added  John  Stuart. 

Blackie  takes  his  ease  at  home,  in  a  dressing- 
gown  and  straw  hat.  This  shows  that  his  plaid 
really  does  come  off.  "  My  occupation  nowadays," 
he  said  to  me  recently,  "  is  business,  blethers,  bothers, 
beggars,  and  backgammon."  He  has  also  started 
a  profession  of  going  to  public  meetings,  and  hurry- 
ing home  to  write  letters  to  the  newspapers  about 
them.  When  the  editor  shakes  the  manuscript,  a 
sonnet  falls  out.  I  think  I  remember  the  professor's 
saying  that  he  had  never  made  five  shillings  by  his 
verses.     To  my  mind  they  are  worth  more  than  that. 

Though  he  has  explained  them  frequently,  there 
is  still  confusion  about  Blackie's  politics.  At  Man- 
chester they  thought  he  was  a  Tory,  and  invited  him 
294 


PROFESSOR  JOHN  STUAR  T  BLA  CKIE.      295 

to  address  them,  on  that  understanding.  "  I  fancy 
I  astonished  them,"  the  professor  said  to  me.  This 
is  quite  possible.  Then  he  was  mistaken  for  a 
Liberal.  The  fact  is  that  Blackie  is  a  philosopher, 
who  follows  the  golden  mean.  He  sees  this  himself. 
A  philosopher  who  follows  the  golden  mean  is  thus 
a  man  who  runs  zig-zag  between  two  extremes. 
You  will  observe  that  he  who  does  this  is  some  time 
before  he  arrives  anywhere. 

The  professor  has  said  that  he  has  the  strongest 
lungs  in  Scotland.  Of  the  many  compliments  that 
might  well  be  paid  him,  not  the  least  worthy  would 
be  this  :  that  he  is  as  healthy  mentally  as  physically. 
Mrs.  Norton  begins  a  novel  with  the  remark  that 
one  of  the  finest  sights  conceivable  is  a  well-pre- 
served gentleman  of  middle  age.  It  will  be  some 
time  yet  before  Blackie  reaches  middle  age,  but 
there  must  be  something  wrong  with  you  if  you  can 
look  at  him  without  feeling  refreshed.  Did  you 
ever  watch  him  marching  along  Princes  Street  on  a 
warm  day,  when  every  other  person  was  broiling  in 
the  sun  ?  His  head  is  well  thrown  back,  the  staff, 
grasped  in  the  middle,  jerks  back  and  forward  like 
a  weaver's  shuttle,  and  the  plaid  flies  in  the  breeze. 
Other  people's  clothes  are  hanging  limp.  Blackie 
carries  his  breeze  with  him. 

A  year  or  two  ago  Mr.  Gladstone,  when  at  Dalmeny, 
pointed  out  that  he  had  the  advantage  over  Blackie 
in  being  of  both  Highland  and  Lowland  extraction. 
The  professor,  however,  is  as  Scotch  as  the  thistle 


296      PROFESSOR  JOHN  STUART  BLACKIE. 

or  his  native  hills,  and  Mr.  Gladstone,  quite  justifi- 
ably, considers  him  the  most  outstanding  of  living 
Scotsmen.  Blackie  is  not  quite  sure  himself.  Not 
long  ago  I  heard  him  read  a  preface  to  a  life  of  Mr. 
Gladstone  that  was  being  printed  at  Smyrna  in 
modern  Greek.  He  told  his  readers  to  remember 
that  Mr.  Gladstone  was  a  great  scholar  and  an  up- 
right statesman.  They  would  find  it  easy  to  do  this 
if  they  first  remembered  that  he  was  Scottish. 

The  World  included  Blackie  in  its  list  of  "  Celeb- 
rities at  Home."  It  said  that  the  door  was  opened 
by  a  red-headed  lassie.  That  was  probably  meant 
for  local  color,  and  it  amused  every  one  who  knew 
Mrs.  Blackie.  The  professor  is  one  of  the  most 
genial  of  men,  and  will  show  you  to  your  room  him- 
self, talking  six  languages.  This  tends  to  make  the 
conversation  one-sided,  but  he  does  not  mind  that. 
He  still  writes  a  good  deal,  spending  several  hours 
in  his  library  daily,  and  his  talk  is  as  brilliant  as 
ever.  His  writing  nowadays  is  less  sustained  than 
it  was,  and  he  prefers  flitting  from  one  subject  to 
another,  to  evolving  a  great  work.  When  he  dips  his 
pen  into  an  ink-pot,  it  at  once  writes  a  sonnet — so 
strong  is  the  force  of  habit.  Recently  he  wrote  a 
page  about  Carlyle  in  a  little  book  issued  by  the 
Edinburgh  students'  bazaar  committee.  In  this  he 
reproved  Carlyle  for  having  "  bias."  Blackie  won- 
ders why  people  should  have  bias. 

Some  readers  of  this  may  in  their  student  days 
have  been  invited  to  the  Greek  professor's  house  to 


PliOFESSOR  JOHN  STtJAR  T  BLA CKIE.     297 

breakfast,  without  knowing  why  they  were  selected 
from  among  so  many.  It  was  not,  as  they  are  prob- 
ably aware,  because  of  their  classical  attainments, 
for  they  were  too  thoughtful  to  be  in  the  prize-list ; 
nor  was  it  because  of  the  charm  of  their  manners  or 
the  fascination  of  their  conversation.  When  the 
professor  noticed  any  physical  peculiarity  about  a 
student,  such  as  a  lisp,  or  a  glass  eye,  or  one  leg 
longer  than  the  other,  or  a  broken  nose,  he  was  at 
once  struck  by  it,  and  asked  him  to  breakfast.  They 
were  very  lively  breakfasts,  the  eggs  being  served 
in  tureens  ;  but  sometimes  it  was  a  collection  of  the 
maimed  and  crooked,  and  one  person  at  the  table- 
not  the  host  himself — used  to  tremble  lest,  making 
mirrors  of  each  other,  the  guests  should  see  why 
they  were  invited. 

Sometimes,  instead  of  asking  a  student  to  break- 
fast, Blackie  would  instruct  another  student  to  re- 
quest his  company  to  tea.  Then  the  two  students 
were  told  to  talk  about  paulo-post  futures  in  the 
cool  of  the  evening,  and  to  read  their  Greek  Testa- 
ment and  to  go  to  the  pantomime.  The  professor 
never  tired  of  giving  his  students  advice  about  the 
preservation  of  their  bodily  health.  He  strongly 
recommended  a  cold  bath  at  six  o'clock  every  morn- 
ing. In  winter,  he  remarked  genially,  you  can 
break  the  ice  with  a  hammer.  According  to  him- 
self, only  one  enthusiast  seems  to  have  followed  his 
advice,  and  he  died. 

In  Blackie's  class-room  there  used  to  be   a  dem- 


298     PROFESSOR  JOHN  STUART  BLACKIE. 

onstration  every  time  he  mentioned  the  name  of  a 
distinguished  politician.  Whether  the  demonstra- 
tion took  the  professor  by  surprise,  or  whether  he 
waited  for  it,  will  never  perhaps  he  known.  But 
Blackie  at  least  put  out  the  gleam  in  his  eye,  and 
looked  as  if  he  were  angry.  "  I  will  say  Beacons- 
field,"  he  would  exclaim  (cheers  and  hisses).  "  Bea- 
consfield"  (uproar).  Then  he  would  stride  forward, 
and,  seizing  the  railing,  announce  his  intention  of 
saying  Beaconsfield  until  every  goose  in  the  room 
was  tired  of  cackling.  ("  Question.")  "  Beacons- 
field."  ("No,  no.")  "Beaconsfield."  ("Hear, 
hear,"  and  shouts  of  "Gladstone.")  "Beaconsfield." 
("  Three  cheers  for  Dizzy.")  Eventually  the  class 
would  be  dismissed  as — (i)  idiots,  (2)  a  beargarden, 
(3)  a  flock  of  sheep,  (4)  a  pack  of  numskulls,  (5) 
hissing  serpents.  The  professor  would  retire,  ap- 
parently fuming,  to  his  anteroom,  and  five  minutes 
afterward  he  would  be  playing  himself  down  the 
North  Bridge  on  imaginary  bagpipes.  This  sort  of 
thing  added  a  sauce  to  all  academic  sessions.  There 
was  a  notebook  also,  which  appeared  year  after 
year.  It  contained  the  professor's  jokes  of  a  former 
session,  carefully  classified  by  an  admiring  student. 
It  was  handed  down  from  one  year's  men  to  the 
next ;  and  thus,  if  Blackie  began  to  make  a  joke 
about  haggis,  the  possessor  of  the  book  had  only 
swiftly  to  turn  to  the  H's,  find  what  the  joke  was, 
and  send  it  along  the  class  quicker  than  the  pro- 
fessor could  speak  it. 


PROFESSOR  JOHN  STUART  BLACKIE.     299 

In  the  old  days  the  Greek  professor  recited  a 
poem  in  honor  of  the  end  of  the  session.  He  com- 
posed it  himself,  and,  as  known  to  me,  it  took  the 
form  of  a  graduate's  farewell  to  his  alma  mater. 
Sometimes  he  would  knock  a  map  down  as  if  over- 
come with  emotion,  and  at  critical  moments  a 
student  in  the  back  benches  would  accompany  him 
on  a  penny  trumpet.  Now,  I  believe,  the  Hellenic 
Club  takes  the  place  of  the  Hclass-room.  All  the 
eminent  persons  in  Edinburgh  attend  its  meetings, 
and  Blackie,  the  Athenian,  is  in  the  chair.  The 
policeman  in  Douglas  Crescent  looks  skeered  when 
you  ask  him  what  takes  place  on  these  occasions. 
It  is  generally  understood  that  toward  the  end  of 
the  meeting  they  agree  to  read  Greek  next  time. 


IV. 

PROFESSOR  CALDERWOOD. 

Here  is  a  true  story  that  the  general  reader  may 
jump,  as  it  is  intended  for  Professor  Calderwood 
himself.  Some  years  ago  an  English  daily  paper 
reviewed  a  book  entitled  "  A  Handbook  of  Moral 
Philosophy."  The  professor  knows  the  work.  The 
"  notice  "  was  done  by  the  junior  reporter,  to  whom 
philosophical  treatises  are  generally  intrusted.  He 
dealt  leniently,  on  the  whole,  with  Professor  Calder- 
wood, even  giving  him  a  word  of  encouragement 
here  and  there.  Still  the  criticism  was  severe. 
The  reviewer  subsequently  went  to  Edinburgh 
University,  and  came  out  144th  in  the  class  of 
moral  philosophy. 

That  student  is  now,  I  believe,  on  friendly  terms 
with  Professor  Calderwood,  but  has  never  told  him 
this  story.  I  fancy  the  professor  would  like  to 
know  his  name.  It  may  perhaps  be  reached  in  this 
way :  He  was  the  young  gentleman  who  went  to 
his  classes  the  first  day  in  a  black  coat  and  silk  hat, 
and  was  cheered  round  the  quadrangle  by  a  body  of 
admiring  fellow-students,  who  took  him  for  a  pro- 
fessor. 
300 


PROFESSOR  CALDERWOOD,  301 

Calderwood  contrives  to  get  himself  more  in  touch 
with  the  mass  of  his  students  than  some  of  his  fel- 
low-professors, partly  because  he  puts  a  high  ideal 
before  himself,  and  to  some  extent  because  his  sub- 
ject is  one  that  Scottish  students  revel  in.  Long 
before  they  join  his  class  they  know  that  they  are 
moral  philosophers;  indeed,  they  are  sometimes 
surer  of  it  before  they  enroll  than  afterward.  Their 
essays  begin  in  some  such  fashion  as  this :  "  In 
joining  issue  with  Reid,  I  wish  to  take  no  unfair 
advantage  of  my  antagonist ;  "  or,  "  Kant  is  sadly 

at  fault  when  he  says  that "  or,  "  It  is  strange 

that  a  man  of  Locke  s  attainments  should  have  been 

blind  to  the  fact "     When  the  professor  reads 

out  these  tit-bits  to  the  class,  his  eyes  twinkle. 
Some  students,  of  course,  are  not  such  keen  philos- 
ophers as  others.  Does  Professor  Calderwood 
remember  the  one  who  was  never  struck  by  any- 
thing in  moral  philosophy  until  he  learned  by 
accident  that  Descartes  lay  in  bed  till  about  twelve 
o'clock  every  morning  ?  Then  it  dawned  on  him 
that  he,  too,  must  have  been  a  philosopher  all  his 
life  without  knowing  it.  One  year  a  father  and 
son  were  in  the  class.  The  father  got  so  excited 
over  volition  and  the  line  that  divides  right  from 
wrong  that  he  wrenched  the  desk  before  him  from 
its  sockets  and  hit  it  triumphantly,  meaning  that  he 
and  the  professor  were  at  one.  He  was  generally 
admired  by  his  fellow-students,  because  he  was  the 
only  one  in  the  class  who  could  cry  out  "  Hear, 


302  PROFESSOR  CALDERWOOD. 

hear,"  and  even  "Question,"  without  blushing. 
The  ison,  on  the  other  hand,  was  blase^  and  would 
have  been  an  agnostic,  only  he  could  never  remem- 
ber the  name.  Once  a  week  Calderwood  turns  his 
class  into  a  debating  society,  and  argues  things  out 
with  his  students.  This  field-day  is  a  joy  to  them. 
Some  of  them  spend  the  six  days  previous  in  pre- 
paring posers.  The  worst  of  the  professor  is  that 
he  never  sees  that  they  are  posers.  What  is  the  use 
of  getting  up  a  question  of  the  most  subtle  kind, 
when  he  answers  it  right  away  ?  It  makes  you  sit 
down  quite  suddenly.  There  is  an  occasional  stu- 
dent who  tries  to  convert  liberty  of  speech  on  the 
discussion  day  into  license,  and  of  him  the  profes- 
sor makes  short  work.  The  student  means  to  turn 
the  laugh  on  Calderwood,  and  then  Calderwood 
takes  advantage  of  him,  and  the  other  students 
laugh  at  the  wrong  person.  It  is  the  older  students, 
as  a  rule,  who  are  most  violently  agitated  over  these 
philosophical  debates.  One  with  a  beard  cracks  his 
fingers,  after  the  manner  of  a  child  in  a  village 
school  that  knows  who  won  the  battle  of  Bannock- 
burn,  and  feels  that  he  must  burst  if  he  does  not  let 
it  out  at  once.  A  bald-headed  man  rises  every 
minute  to  put  a  question,  and  then  sits  down,  look- 
ing stupid.  He  has  been  trying  so  hard  to  remem- 
ber what  it  is  that  he  has  forgotten.  There  is  a 
legend  of  two  who  quarrelled  over  the  Will  and 
fought  it  out  on  Arthur's  Seat. 

One  year,  however,  a  boy  of  sixteen  or  so,  with 


PROFESSOR  CALDERWOOD,  303 

a  squeaky  voice  and  a  stammer,  was  Calderwood's 
severest  critic.  He  sat  on  the  back  bench,  and 
what  he  wanted  to  know  was  something  about  the 
infinite.  Every  discussion  day  he  took  advantage  of 
a  lull  in  the  debate  to  squeak  out,  "  With  regard  to 
the  infinite,"  and  then  could  never  get  any  further. 
No  one  ever  discovered  what  he  wanted  enlighten- 
ment on  about  the  infinite.  He  grew  despondent  as 
the  session  wore  on,  but  courageously  stuck  to  his 
point.  Probably  he  is  a  soured  man  now.  For 
purposes  of  exposition,  Calderwood  has  a  black- 
board in  his  lecture-room,  on  which  he  chalks  circles 
that  represent  the  feelings  and  the  will,  with  arrows 
shooting  between  them.  In  my  class  there  was  a 
boy,  a  very  little  boy,  who  had  been  a  dux  at  school 
and  was  a  dunce  at  college.  He  could  not  make 
moral  philosophy  out  at  all,  but  did  his  best.  Here 
were  his  complete  notes  for  one  day  :  "  Edinburgh 
University ;  Class  of  Moral  Philosophy  ;  Professor 
Calderwood;  Lecture  64;  Jan.  11.  18 —  You  rub 
out  the  arrow,  and  there  is  only  the  circle  left." 

Professor  Calderwood  is  passionately  fond  of 
music,  as  those  who  visit  at  his  house  know.  He  is 
of  opinion  that  there  is  a  great  deal  of  moral  philos- 
ophy in  "  The  Dead  March  in  Saul."  Once  he 
said  something  to  that  effect  in  his  class,  adding 
enthusiastically  that  he  could  excuse  the  absence  of 
a  student  who  had  been  away  hearing  "  The  Dead 
March  in  Saul."  After  that  he  received  a  good 
many  letters  from   students,  worded  in  this  way  : 


304  PJiOFESSOR  CALDERWOOD. 

"  Mr.  McNaughton  (bench  7)  presents  his  compli- 
ments to  Professor  Calderwood,  and  begs  to  state 
that  his  absence  from  the  class  yesterday  was  owing 
to  his  being  elsewhere,  hearing  '  The  Dead  March  in 
Saul.'  "  "  Dear  Professor  Calderwood :  I  regret 
my  absence  from  the  lecture  to-day,  but  hope  you 
will  overlook  it,  as  I  was  unavoidably  detained  at 
home,  practising  *  The  Dead  March  in  Saul.' 
Yours,  truly,  Peter  Webster."  "  Professor  Calder- 
wood :  Dear  Sir, — As  I  was  coming  to  the  lecture 
to-day,  I  heard  *  The  Dead  March  in  Saul '  being 
played  in  the  street.  You  will,  I  am  sure,  make 
allowance  for  my  non-attendance  at  the  class,  as  I 
was  too  much  affected  to  come.  It  is  indeed  a 
grand  march.  Yours,  faithfully,  John  Robbie." 
"  The  students  whose  names  are  subjoined  thank 
the  professor  of  moral  philosophy  most  cordially  for 
his  remarks  on  the  elevating  power  of  music.  They 
have  been  encouraged  thereby  to  start  a  class  for 
the  proper  study  of  the  impressive  and  solemn 
march  to  which  he  called  special  attention,  and  hope 
he  will  excuse  them,  should  their  practisings  occa- 
sionally prevent  their  attendance  at  the  Friday 
lectures."  Professor  Calderwood  does  not  lecture 
on  "  The  Dead  March  in  Saul "  now. 

The  class  of  moral  philosophy  is  not  for  the  few, 
but  the  many.  Some  professors  do  not  mind  what 
becomes  of  the  nine  students,  so  long  as  they  can 
force  on  every  tenth.  Calderwood,  however,  con- 
siders it  his  duty  to  carry  the  whole  class  along  with 


PROFESSOR  CALDERWOOD.  305 

him  ;  and  it  is,  as  a  consequence,  almost  impossible  to 
fall  behind.  The  lectures  are  not  delivered,  in  the 
ordinary  sense,  but  dictated.  Having  explained 
the  subject  of  the  day  with  the  lucidity  that  is  this 
professor's  peculiar  gift,  he  condenses  his  remarks 
into  a  proposition.  It  is  as  if  a  minister  ended  his 
sermon  with  the  text.  Thus  :  "  Proposition  34 : 
Man  is  born  into  the  world — (You  have  got  that  ? 
See  that  you  have  all  got  it.)  Man  is  born  into  the 
world  with  a  capacity — with  a  capacity "  (Anx- 
ious student :  "  If  you  please,  professor,  where  did 
you  say  man  was  born  into  ?  ")     "  Into  the  world, 

with    a    capacity   to    distinguish "     ("With   a 

what,  sir  ?  ") — "  with  a  capacity  to  distinguish " 

(Student :  "  Who  is  born  into  the  world  ? ")  "  Per- 
haps I  have  been  reading  too  quickly.  Man  is  born 
into  the  world,  with  a  capacity  to  distinguish  be- 
tween— distinguish  between "  (student  shuts  his 

book,  thinking  that  completes  the  proposition — ) 
"  distinguish  between  right  and  wrong — right — and 
wrong.  You  have  all  got  Proposition  34,  gentle- 
men?^' 

Once  Calderwood  was  questioning  a  student 
about  a  proposition,  to  see  that  he  thoroughly  under- 
stood it.  "Give  an  illustration,"  suggested  the 
professor.  The  student  took  the  case  of  a  murderer. 
"  Very  good,"  said  the  professor.  "  Now  give  me 
another  illustration."  The  student  pondered  for  a 
a  little.  "  Well,"  he  said  at  length,  "  take  the  case 
of  another  murderer." 
20 


3o6  PROFESSOR  CALDERWOOD. 

Professor  Calderwood  has  such  an  exceptional 
interest  in  his  students  that  he  asks  every  one  of 
them  to  his  house.  This  is  but  one  of  many  things 
that  makes  him  generally  popular  ;  he  also  invites 
his  ladies'  class  to  meet  them.  The  lady  whom 
you  take  down  to  supper  suggests  Proposition  41  as 
a  nice  thing  to  talk  about,  and  asks  what  you  think 
of  the  metaphysics  of  ethics.  Professor  Calder- 
wood sees  the  ladies  into  the  cabs  himself.  It  is 
the  only  thing  I  ever  heard  against  him. 


V. 

PROFESSOR  TAIT. 

Just  as  I  opened  my  desk  to  write  enthusiastically 
of  Tait,  I  remembered  having  recently  deciphered  a 
pencil  note  about  him,  in  my  own  handwriting,  on 
the  cover  of  Masson's  "  Chronological  List,"  which 
I  still  keep  by  me.  I  turned  to  the  note  to  see  if 
there  was  life  in  it  yet.  "  Walls,"  it  says,  "  got  2S. 
for  T.  and  T.  at  Brown's,  i6  Walker  Street."  I  don't 
recall  Walls,  but  T.  and  T.  was  short  for  "  Thomson 
and  Tait's  Elements  of  Natural  Philosophy "  (ele- 
ments !),  better  known  in  my  year  as  the  "  Student's 
First  Glimpse  of  Hades."  Evidently  Walls  sold 
his  copy,  but  why  did  I  take  such  note  of  the  ad- 
dress ?  I  fear  T.  and  T.  is  one  of  the  "  Books  Which 
Have  Helped  Me."   This  somewhat  damps  my  ardor. 

When  Tait  was  at  Cambridge,  it  was  flung  in  the 
face  of  the  mathematicians  that  they  never  stood 
high  in  Scriptural  knowledge.  Tait  and  another* 
were  the  two  of  whom  one  must  be  first  wrangler, 
and  they  agreed  privately  to  wipe  this  stigma  from 
mathematics.  They  did  it  by  taking  year  about  the 
prize  which  was  said  to  hang  out  of  their  reach.  It 
is  always  interesting  to  know  of  professors  who  have 
done  well  in  Biblical  knowledge.  All  Scottish  stu- 
dents at  the  English  universities  are  not  so  success- 

307 


3o8  PROFESSOR   TAIT. 

ful.  I  knew  a  Snell  man  who  was  sent  back  from 
the  Oxford  entrance  exam.,  and  he  always  held  him- 
self that  the  Biblical  questions  had  done  it. 

Turner  is  said  by  medicals  to  be  the  finest  lect- 
urer in  the  university.  He  will  never  be  that  so 
long  as  Tait  is  in  the  natural  philosophy  chair. 
Never,  I  think,  can  there  have  been  a  more  superb 
demonstrator.  I  have  his  burly  figure  before  me. 
The  small  twinkling  eyes  had  a  fascinating  gleam 
in  them  ;  he  could  concentrate  them  until  they  held 
the  object  looked  at ;  when  they  flashed  round  the 
room  he  seemed  to  have  drawn  a  rapier.  I  have 
seen  a  man  fall  back  in  alarm  under  Tait's  eyes, 
though  there  were  a  dozen  benches  between  them. 
These  eyes  could  be  merry  as  a  boy's,  though,  as 
when  he  turned  a  tube  of  water  on  students  who 
would  insist  on  crowding  too  near  an  experiment, 
for  Tait's  was  the  humor  of  high  spirits.  I  could 
conceive  him  at  marbles  still,  and  feeling  annoyed 
at  defeat.  He  could  not  fancy  anything  much 
funnier  than  a  man  missing  his  chair.  Outside  his 
own  subject  he  is  not,  one  feels,  a  six-footer.  When 
Mr.  R.  L.  Stevenson's  memoir  of  the  late  Mr.  Fleem- 
ing  Jenkin  was  published,  Tait  said  at  great  length 
that  he  did  not  like  it ;  he  would  have  had  the  sketch 
by  a  scientific  man.  But  though  scientists  may  be 
the  only  men  nowadays  who  have  anything  to  say, 
they  are  also  the  only  men  who  can't  say  it.  Scien- 
tific men  out  of  their  sphere  know  for  a  fact  that 
novels  are  not  true.     So  they  draw  back  from  novel- 


PROFESSOR  TAIT.  309 

ists  who  write  biography.  Professor  Tait  and  Mr. 
Stevenson  are  both  men  of  note,  who  walk  different 
ways,  and  when  they  meet  neither  likes  to  take  the 
curbstone.  If  they  were  tied  together  for  life  in  a 
three-legged  race,  which  would  suffer  the  more  ? 

But  if  Tait's  science  weighs  him  to  the  earth,  he 
has  a  genius  for  sticking  to  his  subject,  and  I  am 
lost  in  admiration  every  time  I  bring  back  his  lect- 
ures. It  comes  as  natural  to  his  old  students  to  say 
when  they  meet,  "  What  a  lecturer  Tait  was  !  "  as 
to  Englishman  to  joke  about  the  bagpipes.  It  is 
not  possible  to  draw  a  perfect  circle,  Chrystal  used 
to  say,  after  drawing  a  very  fine  one.  To  the  same 
extent  it  was  not  possible  for  Tait  never  to  fail  in  his 
experiments.  The  atmosphere  would  be  too  much 
for  him  once  in  a  session,  or  there  were  other  hostile 
influences  at  work.  Tait  warned  us  of  these  before 
proceeding  to  experiment,  but  we  merely  smiled. 
We  believed  in  him  as  though  he  were  a  Bradshaw 
announcing  that  he  would  not  be  held  responsible 
for  possible  errors. 

I  had  forgotten  Lindsay — "  the  mother  may  forget 
her  child."  As  I  write,  he  has  slipped  back  into 
his  chair  on  the  professor's  right,  and  I  could 
photograph  him  now  in  his  brown  suit.  Lindsay 
was  the  imperturbable  man  who  assisted  Tait  in  his 
experiments,  and  his  father  held  the  post  before  him. 
When  there  were  many  of  us  together  we  could 
applaud  Lindsay  with  burlesque  exaggeration,  and 
he  treated  us  good-humoredly,  as  making  something 


3IO 


PROFESSOR  TAIT. 


considerable  between  us.  But  I  once  had  to  face 
Lindsay  alone,  in  quest  of  my  certificate ;  and  sud- 
denly he  towered  above  me,  as  a  waiter  may  grow 
tall  when  you  find  that  you  have  not  money  enough 
to  pay  the  bill.  He  treated  me  most  kindly ;  did 
not  reply,  of  course,  but  got  the  certificate,  and 
handed  it  to  me  as  a  cashier  contemptuously  shovels 
you  your  pile  of  gold.  Long  ago  I  pasted  up  a  crack 
in  my  window  with  the  certificate,  but  it  said,  I 
remember,  that  I  had  behaved  respectably — so  far 
as  I  had  come  under  the  eyes  of  the  professor.  Tait 
was  always  an  enthusiast. 

We  have  been  keeping  Lindsay  waiting.  When 
he  had  nothing  special  to  do,  he  sat  indifferently  in 
his  chair,  with  the  face  of  a  precentor  after  the  ser- 
mon has  begun.  But  though  it  was  not  very  likely 
that  Lindsay  would  pay  much  attention  to  talk  about 
such  playthings  as  the  laws  of  nature,  his  fingers 
went  out  in  the  direction  of  the  professor  when  the 
experiments  began.  Then  he  was  not  the  precentor ; 
he  was  a  minister  in  one  of  the  pews.  Lindsay  was 
an  inscrutable  man,  and  I  shall  not  dare  to  say  that 
he  even  half-wished  to  see  Tait  fail.  He  only  looked 
on,  ready  for  any  emergency ;  but  if  the  experiment 
would  not  come  off,  he  was  as  quick  to  go  to  the 
professor's  assistance  as  a  member  of  Parliament  is 
to  begin  when  he  has  caught  the  Speaker's  eye. 
Perhaps  Tait  would  have  none  of  his  aid,  or  pushed 
the  mechanism  for  the  experiment  from  him — an  in- 
timation to  Lindsay  to  carry  it  quickly  to  the  ante- 


PROFESSOR  TAIT.  311 

room.  Do  you  think  Lindsay  read  the  instructions 
so  ?  Let  me  tell  you  that  your  mind  fails  to  seize 
hold  of  Lindsay.  He  marched  the  machine  out  of 
Tait's  vicinity  as  a  mother  may  push  her  erring  boy 
away  from  his  father's  arms,  to  take  him  to  her  heart 
as  soon  as  the  door  is  closed.  Lindsay  took  the 
machine  to  his  seat,  and  laid  it  before  him  on  the 
desk,  with  well-concealed  apathy.  Tait  would  flash 
his  eye  to  the  right  to  see  what  Lindsay  was  after, 
and  there  was  Lindsay  sitting  with  his  arms  folded. 
The  professor's  lecture  resumed  its  way,  and  then 
out  went  Lindsay's  hands  to  the  machine.  Here 
he  tried  a  wheel ;  again  he  turned  a  screw ;  in  time 
he  had  the  machine  ready  for  another  trial.  No  one 
was  looking  his  way,  when  suddenly  there  was  a 
whizz — bang,  bang.  All  eyes  were  turned  upon 
Lindsay,  the  professor's  among  them.  A  cheer 
broke  out  as  we  realized  that  Lindsay  had  done  the 
experiment.  Was  he  flushed  with  triumph  ?  Not  a 
bit  of  it ;  he  was  again  sitting  with  his  arms  folded. 
A  Glasgow  merchant  of  modest  manners,  when  cross- 
examined  in  a  law  court,  stated  that  he  had  a  con- 
siderable monetary  interest  in  a  certain  concern. 
"  How  much  do  you  mean  by  a  *  considerable  mon- 
etary interest '  ?  "  demanded  the  contemptuous  bar- 
rister who  was  cross-examining  him.  "  Oh,"  said 
the  witness,  humbly,  "  a  maiter  o'  a  million  an'  a 
half — or,  say,  twa  million."  That  Glasgow  man  in 
the  witness-box  is  the  only  person  I  can  think  of, 
when  looking  about  me  for  a  parallel  to  Lindsay. 


3^- 


PROFESSOR  TAIT. 


While  the  professor  eyed  him  and  the  students  delir- 
iously beat  the  floor,  Lindsay  quietly  gathered  the 
mechanism  together  and  caried  it  to  the  ante-room. 
His  head  was  not  flung  back  nor  his  chest  forward, 
like  one  who  walked  to  music.  In  his  hour  of 
triumph  he  was  still  imperturbable.  I  lie  back  in 
my  chair  to-day,  after  the  lapse  of  years,  and  ask 
myself  again.  How  did  Lindsay  behave  after  he  en- 
tered the  ante-room,  shutting  the  door  behind  him  t 
Did  he  give  way  ?  There  is  no  one  to  say.  When 
he  returned  to  the  class-room  he  wore  his  familiar 
face  ;    a  man  to  ponder  over. 

There  is  a  legend  about  the  natural  philosophy 
class-room,  the  period  long  antecedent  to  Tait. 
The  professor,  annoyed  by  a  habit  students  had  got 
into  of  leaving  their  hats  on  his  desk,  announced 
that  the  next  hat  placed  there  would  be  cut  in  pieces 
by  him  in  presence  of  the  class.  The  warning  had 
its  effect,  until  one  day  when  the  professor  was 
called  for  a  few  minutes  from  the  room.  An  under- 
graduate, to  whom  the  natural  sciences,  unrelieved, 
were  a  monotonous  study,  slipped  into  the  ante- 
room, from  which  he  emerged  with  the  professor's 
hat.  This  he  placed  on  the  desk,  and  then  stole  in 
a  panic  to  his  seat.  An  awe  fell  upon  the  class. 
The  professor  returned,  but  when  he  saw  the  hat  he 
stopped.  He  showed  no  anger.  "  Gentlemen,"  he 
said,  "  I  told  you  what  would  happen  if  you  again 
disobeyed  my  orders."  Quite  blandly  he  took  a 
pen-knife  from  his  pocket,  slit  the  hat  into  several 


PROFESSOR  TAIT.  313 

pieces,  and  flung  them  into  the  sink.  While  the 
hat  was  under  the  knife,  the  students  forgot  to  dem- 
onstrate ;  but  as  it  splashed  into  the  sink,  they  gave 
forth  a  true  British  cheer.     The  end. 

Close  to  the  door  of  the  natural  philosophy  room 
is  a  window  that  in  my  memory  will  ever  be  sacred 
to  a  janitor.  The  janitors  of  the  university  were  of 
varied  interest,  from  the  merry  one  who  treated  us 
as  if  we  were  his  equals,  and  the  soldier  who  some- 
times looked  as  if  he  would  like  to  mow  us  down, 
to  the  Head  Man  of  All,  whose  name  I  dare  not 
write,  though  I  can  whisper  it.  The  janitor  at  the 
window,  however,  sat  there  through  the  long  even- 
ings while  the  Debating  Society  (of  which  I  was  a 
member)  looked  after  affairs  of  state  in  an  adjoining 
room.  We  were  the  smallest  society  in  the  univer- 
sity and  the  longest  winded,  and  I  was  once  nearly 
expelled  for  not  paying  my  subscription.  Our  grand 
debate  was,  "  Is  the  policy  of  the  government  worthy 
the  confidence  of  this  society  ?  "  and  we  also  read 
about  six  essays  yearly  on  "  The  Genius  of  Robert 
Burns;"  but  it  was  on  private  business  that  we 
came  out  strongest.  The  question  that  agitated 
us  most  was  whether  the  meeting  should  be  opened 
with  prayer,  and  the  men  who  thought  they  should 
would  not  so  much  as  look  at  the  men  who  thought 
they  should  not.  When  the  janitor  was  told  that 
we  had  begun  our  private  business,  he  returned  to 
his  window  and  slept.  His  great  day  was  when  we 
could  not  form  a  quorum,  which  happened  now  and 
then. 


314  PROFESSOR  TAIT. 

Gregory  was  a  member  of  that  society — what  has 
become  of  Gregory?  He  was  one  of  those  men 
who  professors  say  have  a  brilliant  future  before 
them,  and  who  have  not  since  been  heard  of.  Mor- 
ton, another  member,  was  of  a  different  stamp.  He 
led  in  the  debate  on  "  Beauty  of  the  Mind  v.  Beauty 
of  the  Body."  His  writhing  contempt  for  the  beauty 
that  is  only  skin-deep  is  not  to  be  forgotten.  How 
noble  were  his  rhapsodies  on  the  beauty  of  the 
mind !  And  when  he  went  to  Calderwood's  to  sup- 
per, how  quick  he  was  to  pick  out  the  prettiest  girl, 
who  took  ten  per  cent,  in  moral  philosophy,  and  to 
sit  beside  her  all  the  evening  !  Morton  had  a  way 
of  calling  on  his  friends  the  night  before  a  degree 
examination  to  ask  them  to  put  him  up  to  as  much 
as  would  pull  him  through. 

Tait  used  to  get  greatly  excited  over  the  rectorial 
elections,  and,  if  he  could  have  disguised  himself, 
would  have  liked,  I  think,  to  join  in  the  fight  round 
the  Brewster  statue.  He  would  have  bled  for  the 
Conservative  cause,  as  his  utterances  on  university 
reform  have  shown.  The  reformers  have  some 
cause  for  thinking  that  Tait  is  a  greater  man  in  his 
class-room  than  when  he  addresses  the  graduates. 
He  has  said  that  the  less  his  students  know  of  his 
subject  when  they  join  his  class,  the  less,  probably, 
they  will  have  to  unlearn.  Such  views  are  behind 
the  times  that  feed  their  children  on  geographical 
biscuits  in  educational  nurseries  with  astronomical 
ceilings  and  historical  wall-papers. 


VI. 

PROFESSOR  CAMPBELL  ERASER. 

Not  long  ago  I  was  back  in  the  Old  University — 
how  well  I  remember  pointing  it  out  as  the  jail  to  a 
stranger  who  had  asked  me  to  show  him  round.  I 
was  in  one  of  the  library  ante-rooms,  when  some 
one  knocked,  and  I  looked  up,  to  see  Campbell 
Eraser  framed  in  the  doorway.  I  had  not  looked 
on  that  venerable  figure  for  half  a  dozen  years.  I 
had  forgotten  all  my  metaphysics.  Yet  it  all  came 
back  with  a  rush.  I  was  on  my  feet,  wondering  if 
I  existed  strictly  so  called. 

Calderwood  and  Eraser  had  both  their  followings. 
The  moral  philosophers  wore  an  air  of  certainty,  for 
they  knew  that  if  they  stuck  to  Calderwood  he  would 
pull  them  through.  You  cannot  lose  yourself  in  the 
back  garden.  But  the  metaphysicians  had  their 
doubts.  Eraser  led  them  into  strange  places,  and 
said  he  would  meet  them  there  again  next  day. 
They  wandered  to  their  lodgings,  and  got  into  diffi- 
culties with  their  landlady  for  saying  that  she  was 
only  an  aggregate  of  sense  phenomena.  Eraser  was 
rather  a  hazardous  cure  for  weak  intellects.  Young 
men  whose  anchor  had  been  certainty  of  themselves 
went  into  that  class  floating  buoyantly  on  the  sea  of 

315 


3i6         PHOFESSOR  CAMPBELL  FRASER. 

facts,  and  came  out  all  adrift — on  the  sea  of  theory 
— in  an  open  boat — rudderless — one  oar — the  boat 
scuttled.  How  could  they  think  there  was  any 
chance  for  them,  when  the  professor  was  not  even 
sure  of  himself  ?  I  see  him  rising  in  a  daze  from 
his  chair  and  putting  his  hands  through  his  hair. 
"Do  I  exist,"  he  said,  thoughtfully,  "strictly  so 
called  ? "  The  students  (if  it  was  the  beginning  of 
the  session)  looked  a  little  startled.  This  was  a 
matter  that  had  not  previously  disturbed  them.  Still, 
if  the  professor  was  in  doubt,  there  must  be  some- 
thing in  it.  He  began  to  argue  it  out,  and  an  un- 
comfortable silence  held  the  room  in  awe.  If  he 
did  not  exist,  the  chances  were  that  they  did  not 
exist  either.  It  was  thus  a  personal  question.  The 
professor  glanced  round  slowly  for  an  illustration. 
"  Am  I  a  table  ?  "  A  pained  look  travelled  dver  the 
class.  Was  it  just  possible  that  they  were  all  tables  ? 
It  is  no  wonder  that  the  students  who  do  not  go  to 
the  bottom  during  their  first  month  of  metaphysics 
begin  to  give  themselves  airs  strictly  so  called.  In 
the  privacy  of  their  room  at  the  top  of  the  house, 
they  pinch  themselves  to  see  if  they  are  still  there. 

He  would,  I  think,  be  a  sorry  creature  who  did 
not  find  something  to  admire  in  Campbell  Fraser. 
metaphysics  may  not  trouble  you,  as  it  troubles  him, 
but  you  do  not  sit  under  the  man  without  seeing  his 
transparent  honesty  and  feeling  that  he  is  genuine. 
In  appearance  and  in  habit  of  thought  he  is  an  ideal 
philosopher,  and  his  communings  with  himself  have 


PROFESSOR  CAMPBELL  ERASER,         317 

lifted  him  to  a  level  of  serenity  that  is  worth  strug- 
gling for.  Of  all  the  arts  professors  in  Edinburgh, 
he  is  probably  the  most  difficult  to  understand,  and 
students  in  a  hurry  have  called  his  lectures  childish. 
If  so,  it  may  be  all  the  better  for  them.  For  the 
first  half  of  the  hour,  they  say,  he  tells  you  what  he 
is  going  to  do,  and  for  the  second  half  he  revises. 
Certainly  he  is  vastly  explanatory,  but  then  he  is  not 
so  young  as  they  are,  and  so  he  has  his  doubts. 
They  are  so  cock-sure  that  they  wonder  to  see  him 
hesitate.  Often  there  is  a  mist  on  the  mountain 
when  it  is  all  clear  in  the  valley. 

Eraser's  great  work  is  his  edition  of  Berkeley,  a 
labor  of  love  that  should  live  after  him.  He  has 
two  Berkeleys,  the  large  one  and  the  little  one,  and, 
to  do  him  justice,  it  was  the  little  one  he  advised  us 
to  consult.  I  never  read  the  large  one  myself, 
which  is  in  a  number  of  monster  tomes,  but  I  often 
had  a  look  at  it  in  the  library,  and  I  was  proud  to 
think  that  an  Edinburgh  professor  was  the  editor. 
When  Glasgow  men  came  through  to  talk  of  their 
professors,  we  showed  them  the  big  Berkeley,  and 
after  that  they  were  reasonable.  There  was  one 
man  in  my  year  who  really  began  the  large  Berkeley, 
but  after  a  time  he  was  missing,  and  it  is  believed 
that  some  day  he  will  be  found  flattened  between  the 
pages  of  the  first  volume. 

The  "  Selections  "  was  the  text-book  we  used  in 
the  class.  It  is  sufficient  to  prove  that  Berkeley 
wrote  beautiful  English.     I  am  not  sure  that  any 


3i8  PROFESSOR  CAMPBELL  ERASER. 

one  has  written  such  English  since.  We  have  our 
own  "  stylists,"  but  how  self-conscious  they  are  after 
Berkeley !  It  is  seven  years  since  I  opened  my 
*'  Selections,"  but  I  see  that  I  was  once  more  of  a 
metaphysician  than  I  have  been  giving  myself 
credit  for.  The  book  is  scribbled  over  with  posers 
in  my  handwriting  about  dualism  and  primary  real- 
ities. Some  of  the  comments  are  in  short-hand, 
which  I  must  at  one  time  have  been  able  to  read, 
but  all  are  equally  unintelligible  now.  Here  is  one 
of  my  puzzlers  :  "  Does  B  here  mean  impercipient 
and  unperceived  subject  or  conscious  and  percipi- 
ent subject  ?  "  Observe  the  friendly  B.  I  dare  say 
further  on  I  shall  find  myself  referring  to  the  pro- 
fessor as  F.  I  wonder  if  I  ever  discovered  what  B 
meant.  I  could  not  now  tell  what  I  meant,  myself. 
As  many  persons  are  aware,  the  "  Selections " 
consist  of  Berkeley's  text  with  the  professor's  notes 
thereon.  The  notes  are  explanatory  of  the  text, 
and  the  student  must  find  them  an  immense  help. 
Here,  for  instance,  is  a  note :  "  Phenomenal  or 
sense  dependent  existence  can  be  substantiated  and 
caused  only  by  a  self-conscious  spirit,  for  otherwise 
there  could  be  no  propositions  about  it  expressive 
of  what  is  conceivable  ;  on  the  other  hand,  to  affirm 
that  phenomenal  or  sense  dependent  existence, 
which  alone  we  know,  and  which  alone  is  conceiv- 
able, is,  or  even  represents,  an  inconceivable  non- 
phenomenal  or  abstract  existence,  would  be  to  affirm 
a  contradiction  in  terms."     There  we  have  it. 


PROFESSOR  CAMPBELL  ERASER.         319 

As  a  metaphysician  I  was  something  of  a  disap- 
pointment. I  began  well,  standing,  if  I  recollect 
aright,  in  the  three  examinations,  first,  seventeenth, 
and  seventy-seventh.  A  man  who  sat  beside  me — 
man  was  the  word  we  used — gazed  at  me  reverently 
when  I  came  out  first,  and  I  could  see  by  his  eye 
that  he  was  not  sure  whether  I  existed  properly  so 
called.  By  the  second  exam,  his  doubts  had  gone, 
and  by  the  third  he  was  surer  of  me  than  of  himself. 
He  came  out  fifty-seventh,  this  being  the  grand  tri- 
umph of  his  college  course.  He  was  the  same 
whose  key  translated  eras  donaberis  hcedo  "  To-mor- 
row you  will  be  presented  with  a  kid,"  but  who, 
thinking  that  a  little  vulgar,  refined  it  down  to 
"To-morrow  you  will  be  presented  with  a  small 
child." 

In  the  metaphysics  class  I  was  like  the  fountains 
in  the  quadrangle,  which  ran  dry  toward  the  middle 
of  the  session.  While  things  were  still  looking 
hopeful  for  me,  I  had  an  invitation  to  breakfast 
with  the  professor.  If  the  fates  had  been  so  pro- 
pitious as  to  forward  me  that  invitation,  it  is  possi- 
ble that  I  might  be  a  metaphysician  to  this  day,  but 
I  had  changed  my  lodgings,  and,  when  I  heard  of 
the  affair,  all  was  over.  The  professor  asked  me  to 
stay  behind  one  day  after  the  lecture,  and  told  me 
that  he  had  got  his  note  back  with  "  Left :  no  ad- 
dress "  on  it.  "  However,"  he  said,  "  you  may  keep 
this,"  presenting  me  with  the  invitation  for  the  Sat- 
urday previously.     I  mention  this  to  show  that  even 


320         PROCESSOR  CAMPBELL  PRASBR. 

professors  have  hearts.  That  letter  is  preserved 
with  the  autographs  of  three  editors,  none  of  which 
anybody  can  read. 

There  was  once  a  medical  student  who  came  up 
to  my  rooms  early  in  the  session,  and  I  proved  to 
him  in  half  an  hour  that  he  did  not  exist.  He  got 
quite  frightened,  and  I  can  still  see  his  white  face 
as  he  sat  staring  at  me  in  the  gloaming.  This 
shows  what  metaphysics  can  do.  He  has  recov- 
ered, however,  and  is  sheep-farming  now,  his  exam- 
iners never  having  asked  him  the  right  questions. 

The  last  time  Fraser  ever  addressed  me  was  when 
I  was  capped.  He  said,  "  I  congratulate  you,  Mr. 
Smith,"  and  one  of  the  other  professors  said,  "  I 
congratulate  you,  Mr.  Fisher."  My  name  is  neither 
Smith  nor  Fisher,  but  no  doubt  the  thing  was  kindly 
meant.  It  was  then,  however,  that  the  professor  of 
metaphysics  had  his  revenge  on  me.  I  had  once 
spelt  Fraser  with  a  "  z." 


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